


Seven Days

by CrafterOfWords, owlboxes



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Consensual Sex, Developing Relationship, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Magazine AU, Modern AU, Office AU, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Unprotected Sex, bad breakups, domestic cuteness, lots of flirting, mentions of coming out, trauma from past relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrafterOfWords/pseuds/CrafterOfWords, https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlboxes/pseuds/owlboxes
Summary: Edward Little, Assistant Editor-in-Chief of Fair Winds Travel Magazine, has long since sworn off relationships in favor of focusing on his career. All is well, until one fateful office happy hour, when he's introduced to Thomas Jopson, freelance photographer, who just so happens to be the nephew of the magazine's owner…
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Lt Edward Little/Sgt Solomon Tozer, Thomas Hartnell/Lt John Irving, Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25
Collections: The Terror Big Bang 2020





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Jen for illustrating my fic. I can't even tell you how head over heels in love I am with your artwork. You can find her on tumblr [ @FireEveryTime ](https://fire-every-time.tumblr.com/) <3 
> 
> And thank you to my wonderful beta, [ @aulonraid,](https://aulonraid.tumblr.com/) who helped me fine-tune my first-ever multi-chapter fic into this polished beauty!
> 
> Also - thank you to the mods for working so hard to organize this event for us! And a big thank you to the other authors who I spent many late nights writing with, and who were always full of the kindest words of encouragement! 
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy! <3

_Monday._

Beginning of the week happy hour was a staple - or, at least, it had been since its conception two years prior. Mondays were difficult days. The office was buzzing with activity on Monday mornings, with phone calls to be returned, inboxes full of emails, articles that needed writing and editing and tight deadlines at the forefront of everyone’s minds again after the weekend. It had started with an off-handed comment during a staff meeting about how every Monday deserved a good drink once it was through. One thing led to another, and the magazine’s owner, one Francis Crozier, former arctic explorer, had been amenable to the idea of a Monday evening happy hour. Drinks were provided, employees were encouraged to socialize, and everyone left the office feeling much more relaxed than they had been earlier. It had done wonders for morale. So long as no one overindulged - which no one ever did - most seemed to come back to work on Tuesday refreshed and ready for the remainder of the week.

It was also a fantastic opportunity to introduce new employees, interns, freelancers, all manner of industry personnel, in a relatively casual but still structured setting. Every other week or so, there would be a new face, someone interesting to hold a conversation with, or potentially to make new connections with. After all, journalism in any form was all about who one might know. This particular week, said newcomer was chatting enthusiastically with Crozier, suspiciously comfortable for someone who had not been around more than perhaps a few hours.

“Who’s up for a round of bets, lads?” 

That particular voice, jovial and deep, belonged to one Henry LeVesconte, known around the office simply as Dundy. He’d been working with _Fair Winds_ magazine practically since its very first issue thanks to his close friendship with the owner’s husband. He was devoted and focused in his work, but now, with a half-empty glass of wine clutched in his hand - likely not his first, either - he had shed his workday mentality in favor of something easier, something more likable. 

It was typical workplace behavior: the long-time employees were curious about the newcomer, lacking information about what position he’d be filling, and what his resume looked like. All of it was in good fun, mind you. Francis never would have tolerated any of his employees being unkind or unwelcoming, and that sort of attitude fostered the kind of work environment that encouraged people to stay. It was the reason that most of the staff felt like family. 

“I’d say…twenty three. Keeps a blog, looking to become a professional,” came a reply shortly after, from one Graham Gore, Art Director, whose tie was already loosened as he drained the last sips of beer from the bottle he was holding. “We’ve had a sudden influx of those lately.”

“Maybe an intern,” chimed in John Irving, a fair-haired junior designer, who had been with them since right around when happy hour had become a weekly event. “He looks young. And enthusiastic.”

Dundy chuckled. “Enthusiastic is right. He’s been talking Crozier’s ear off since this thing started.” Glancing over at the fourth man standing in their little group, he reached out to nudge him. “What do you think, Little? You’ve been quiet as hell all night. We’d love some insight.”

Edward Little had mostly tuned out their conversation, though his gaze had been locked on the young man who was eagerly chatting with their boss. The thirty-year-old assistant Editor In Chief was not one to engage in gossip or bets, but his curiosity was piqued, if only for the newcomer’s seemingly immediate ease with their boss. It wasn’t that Crozier wasn’t a particularly likable man. Quite the opposite in fact: he was fair, understanding, and friendly with all of his employees, even if he set the bar high for all of them. It was more that Edward had never seen someone converse so comfortably on their very first day of work, let alone with the person who they were, by nature, the most inclined to impress.

The elbow nudging into his ribs caused him to startle, just enough that a round of chuckles followed, and his lips drew into a tight line as he looked back over at his coworkers, offering a shrug of his shoulders in reply. He’d never seen a reason to make these silly bets in the first place. They’d likely find out who he was and why he was here soon enough. “I don’t know,” he answered, taking a sip of his own drink. “Does it matter?” 

“Suppose it doesn’t,” Graham gave a shrug of his own, though a wicked grin was spreading across his face. “Judging by the way you’ve been staring at him, I’d say you’re less inclined to give a damn about his position and more concerned about whether or not he’s single.”

Edward had been just about to swallow another mouthful of beer - mostly to keep himself busy so that they didn’t ask him any more questions - but at the not-so-subtle jab that was tossed out between them, he nearly choked on it instead. His free hand flying to cover his mouth, he coughed and sputtered, and a round of hearty laughter broke out around him as Dundy thumped him on the back. 

When he lifted his head, after the worst of his coughing fit had subsided, the new employee was staring right back at him. God, his eyes were pretty.

It was all Edward could do to lift a hand in a half-wave, some sort of silent apology for the raucous laughter of his less-than-mature coworkers and, less evidently, his own flustered clumsiness. The other man’s lips curled into a smile, briefly, and Ed had to look away. His reddened face from nearly choking on his drink was suddenly a blessing in disguise. By the time he dared to look up again, the newcomer had turned his attention back to Crozier, and the moment had passed.

“He’s cute,” Irving commented, with a low whistle. “And he _smiled_ at you.”

“He did _not_.” That was a lie.

“He _did_ ,” Dundy pressed, with all of the fervor of a kid in a schoolyard, teasing a friend over a crush. He was grinning from ear to ear. “He smiled at you. You can’t _not_ talk to him now.”

“He’s obviously busy. I’m not going to interrupt.” It was a lame excuse at best, Edward knew, and one that didn’t hold up for much longer. Within a few minutes, Crozier had excused himself, and the (very attractive) newbie was left standing alone, a glass of wine in hand, not knowing anyone else in the room. Edward noticed first, and he purposely said nothing. To leave him alone would be cruel at best, but approaching him meant subjecting himself to the teasing of his coworkers, which he knew could be relentless even in the best of situations. He’d hear about it for days, regardless of the outcome.  
  
It wasn’t long before the others caught on, however, and a firm hand between his shoulders nudged him forward. “Looks like it’s your time to shine. Go get ‘im, tiger,” Dundy murmured, amusement clear in his voice, “Don’t forget to ask for his number.” 

Graham and John snickered behind him, and Edward wanted to crumple in on himself. His cheeks were burning, and this time, there was no hiding behind a well-timed coughing fit. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height, and tried to ignore the way that he could feel his coworkers’ eyes following his every move as he crossed the room, heart hammering in his chest. The last few steps to close the distance between them seemed to draw the beautiful stranger’s attention, and when he looked up, he _smiled_ again, those bright eyes lighting up with it. _Oh hell._

“Hi.” Damn it. He held his hand out, the one that wasn’t still clutching his beer like a lifeline. “I’m Edward. Assistant Editor in Chief.” Way to make it sound like it was some kind of formality. 

If it did come out too stiffly, however, the newbie didn’t seem to mind. His smile was completely genuine as he reached out to take Edward’s hand - his own was warm, his skin soft. “Thomas Jopson, but you can call me Tom. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Edward,” he replied easily, the gentle lilt to his voice altogether too pleasing. Edward knew immediately that he was in too deep. “I’m on contract with the company for the next few weeks. If I’m lucky, maybe longer.”

Not an intern then. Irving’s bet was out. But Ed didn’t care about the bets. He cared about the fact that he’d almost forgotten to let go of Tom’s hand. Awkwardly running his fingers through his hair, he nodded. “ ‘S a good place to work. Everyone’s like family,” he replied, nodding his head toward his coworkers, who were doing a piss-poor job of hiding the fact that they were still watching. “Been with that lot for a while now.”

Tom looked over at them, and raised a hand in a wave. “They certainly seem like a good bunch to be around. Whatever you were laughing at earlier, everyone seemed to be quite comfortable.”

“Ah. Yeah. They’re…they’ve got a good sense of humor,” Edward replied, eager to switch the subject away from the bets and the teasing and the fact that every one of them knew that Tom was exactly his type. Clearing his throat, he angled himself slightly so as to draw Tom’s attention away from the idiots who were trying and failing to stifle their giggles from across the room. “So, short-term contract to start. What do you do?”

“Oh, mostly I just. Sit around the office, you know? Attend happy hour. That sort of thing.” Tom’s smile had spread into a cheeky grin, and Edward had to keep himself from balking. Cute, funny, what else did this guy have going for him? Tom laughed, and Ed felt his heart skip a beat. “Just kidding. I’m a photographer. Mostly as a hobby, but I’ve been hoping to break into the industry in a more meaningful way lately. I’m lucky to have this opportunity.” 

“A photographer, huh? Mister Crozier must really have an appreciation for your work. He’s got a good eye.” Edward smiled. It was shaky, but it was honest. “You two seemed to be getting on well. First impressions and all.”

Tom laughed again, and lifted his glass to take a sip. When he replied, it was with a lower, almost conspiratorial tone. “I’d hope we get on well. He’s my uncle after all.” 

“Oh.” Edward blinked. He certainly couldn’t see the resemblance. That was probably why he’d never even considered the possibility. “I mean, you’re probably still talented as hell. You’d know better than me that he’s picky about who he hires on.”

“He is,” Tom agreed. “He made me submit a portfolio, and had someone else assess it so that there wouldn’t be any bias. Uncle Francis is nothing if not fair. I’m hoping that my work will continue to impress though, either way. I’ve heard lots of good things about this place, and if happy hour is any indication of what the morale is like, I think I’ll settle in just fine.” 

Edward caught himself hoping just that - that Tom would settle in and become a regular fixture, because damn, he could listen to him talk all day. And his laugh. God. “You’ll do fine here,” Ed insisted, with a slight nod. “I’d love to see your work sometime. I mean - I know I will eventually, everything comes through me before Mister Fitzjames handles the finishing touches, but-” He cleared his throat, gave a little chuckle. “You know what I mean. I bet your portfolio is nice.”

_Your portfolio is nice._ Edward wanted to smack himself upside the head. He could only hope that the others weren’t within earshot, because they’d give him hell for that. He could already imagine it, in their most mocking voices. _Your portfolio is nice but your eyes are even nicer._ Or, _I can think of a few things I’d rather check out than your portfolio._ It took some serious effort to keep from grimacing.

“I’d love to show you, maybe sometime later this week,” Tom suggested, without missing a beat, lifting a hand to tuck his dark hair back behind his ear in a gesture that shouldn’t have been so damn attractive but it was. “I’ll be out on location around the city for the next few days, though I imagine I’ll be back for a check-in before the week’s through.”

Even though Edward found himself quietly mourning the fact that he wouldn’t get to see that gorgeous smile for the next few days, the conversation carried on in relative comfort after that. Tom was easy to talk to (despite making Ed feel flustered in all of the most frustrating ways), and by the time happy hour had almost come to a close, he’d just about forgotten the fact that his coworkers were still standing off to the side, or that anyone else was around, really. It wasn’t until people started to file out around him, and the leftover bottles were stored for next week’s event, that he even realized how quickly they’d come to the end of it. 

“Looks like we should probably start heading out,” Tom commented, glancing toward the door. Maybe Edward was just imagining it, but he almost sounded disappointed. 

Ed nodded, taking a glance over to where his little group had been hanging out, only to find that they’d all left already. There would be questions tomorrow, but at least he didn’t have to deal with them tonight. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to keep them from getting everything closed up…” he replied, his voice trailing briefly as he worked up the last little bit of courage he needed to follow through. Maybe it was too soon? Maybe it was inappropriate, especially given that Tom was the boss’s nephew? But he’d be beating himself up later if he didn’t go for it, and so he finally took that step out of his comfort zone. “Hey. Would you…maybe want to exchange numbers?” Hopefully that didn’t sound half as awkward as it felt, coming out of his mouth. He hastily followed up with, “ You know, in case I’m out of the office the next time you come around. I’m serious about wanting to see your pictures.” 

For a minute, a slightly puzzled expression seemed to cross Tom’s handsome face, and then it lit up with a smile again, and he nodded. “Yeah, give me a sec…” He dug around in his pocket for a minute, then frowned. “Shoot. No business cards. Here.” He reached out toward Edward, handing over his phone. “Just put your number in there, I’ll send you a text later to make sure it’s the right one, so I’m not offering to show my portfolio to a total stranger.” His lips tugged into a grin. “That would be a little too scandalous.”

Laughing softly, Ed took the offered phone and quickly put in his phone number - agonized only a moment over whether to include his last name and finally did, along with the company name just in case there was another Edward in Tom’s life - and then handed it back. “Scandalous indeed,” he chuckled, “What would your uncle say?”

“Oh god, don’t get him involved.” Tom’s giggle was altogether too adorable, as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. He nodded toward Crozier’s office, where the lights were still turned on. “Speaking of which, I’d best go say goodnight.” He took a step in that direction, then seemed to get caught up in a thought for a moment, hesitating, and looking back toward Ed. “It was really great to meet you, Edward,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. It was nice to meet you too, Tom. You get home safe.” 

Long after he’d walked out of the office, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, Ed felt like he was walking on clouds. His mind was buzzing with all sorts of thoughts that seemed to come rapid-fire and disappear just as quickly. He had no idea if Tom was even single. Or attracted to men, for that matter. For all he knew, he could have misread the entire situation and Tom really just did want to know him in a professional capacity. But if he didn’t? It wasn’t a conflict of interest by the books. So long as he wasn’t directly in any position of power over Tom, which he wasn’t, then there was nothing in the employee handbook about it. But there was always the highly delicate matter of wanting to date the boss’s nephew. Then again, they _had_ just met and he definitely should not have been thinking about any of this, because a successful hour of conversation really didn’t mean anything at all, did it?

But, he thought, as he took the elevator up to his apartment, it had _felt_ like there was something there, some kind of connection beyond just professional. Tom had said that it was _really great_ to meet him. He was probably over thinking the entire thing, and as he undressed and stepped under the hot spray of the shower, he tried not to think about those pretty eyes or that warm smile or how soft Tom’s hand had been when he’d held it in his own briefly. None of those thoughts were appropriate shower thoughts. Nor was his excitement for checking his phone once he got out of the shower - only to find, with some mild measure of disappointment, that there wasn’t anything waiting for him beyond an email from the design department regarding some work related issue that he really couldn’t find the energy to deal with. 

That was fine. He could be patient. Maybe Tom had to go a lot further to get home. Maybe he’d just forgotten. That was his mantra as he wandered into the kitchen with the intention of finding something to eat, damp towel draped over his shoulders and pajama bottoms slung carelessly low on his hips. He could still feel the lingering effects of the alcohol from earlier, and didn’t want to go to bed with nothing in his stomach, but the motivation to actually cook something was just not there. Glancing at his phone for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d stepped out of the shower, he heaved a sigh and shoved it into his pocket, and resigned himself to a frozen pizza tossed into the microwave.

The television, turned on and playing some god-awful sitcom, served as a decent distraction as he chewed on the slightly soggy and not particularly appetizing dinner he’d made for himself. It was enough that by the time the show was through, and his stomach no longer felt so empty, it was just about time to give up and head to bed. Maybe he’d get lucky and wake up to a text instead, he figured, leaving his plate in the sink for the time being and padding through his empty apartment to the quiet of his bedroom. 

He wanted to admonish himself for his frankly ridiculous behavior. It had just been a while since he’d allowed himself to even admit to finding someone attractive. His last relationship had been an utter disaster, and for the longest time, he’d refused to let himself get bogged down with even something as simple as a one-night-stand, deciding instead to focus heavily on his career in place of any sort of intimate relationship. But there was just something about Tom’s smile, something about this clever, sweet, incredibly gorgeous man that lingered on his mind in a way that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. It was almost scary, if he was being honest with himself.

Ed was pulled from his thoughts when his phone suddenly buzzed on the nightstand, and he was pushing himself up in an instant, squinting against the bright glow of the screen. His heart skipped a beat. There was the message he’d been waiting for all night: 

020 7946 0988 -   
Here’s hoping this is Edward and not a total stranger?

020 7946 0988 -   
It’s Tom, sorry for the late text.

Grinning, Edward quickly unlocked his phone and spared just a moment to input the contact information before replying.

Ed -   
Tempted to tease you about it being a wrong number but I won’t.

Ed -   
All good? I was worried I’d jinxed you by telling you to get home safe.

Tom -   
I got offered dinner and couldn’t refuse. Uncle James is an amazing cook.

Tom -   
Sorry to worry you!

Ed -   
I had no idea he could cook. I guess you learn something new every day.

Ed -   
Glad you’re home safe though.

There was a moment where no reply came, and Edward was left alone with his thoughts, trying not to over-analyze the tone of the messages. It wasn’t long until his phone buzzed again, however, and he soon found himself leaning back against his pillows, grinning like a moron up at his screen. The same level of comfort with which they’d talked in the office came rushing back, and it was altogether too easy to lose track of time. Generally, he was asleep by midnight at the very latest. His schedule couldn’t accommodate constant late nights, and being tired meant potentially letting little details slip through, and that wasn’t something he ever wanted for his work. But somehow, before he knew it, it was verging on one o’clock, and he was reminded only by a brief glance toward his alarm clock.

Ed -   
As much as I’m enjoying this, we should both get some sleep.

Tom -   
You’re probably right. It’s way later than I’d realized.

Tom -   
Sweet dreams, Edward. Thanks for the great conversation.

Ed -   
Night, Tom. Sleep well.

With that message sent, Edward stared down at his phone, feeling his heart skip a beat as a moment of boldness overtook him, spurred on by some unseen force that he couldn’t have named even if he really wanted to. He wasn’t usually like this. This wasn’t his normal way of being. But he figured taking a leap might result in something worthwhile, and so, he went for it.

Ed -   
Hey, this might sound kind of weird. And feel free to say no. No pressure or anything.

Ed -   
But we should get drinks tomorrow night, after work. I know a place I think you’d like.

No reply came for the next few minutes, and Edward’s heart sunk. He should have known better than to put himself out like that. He still had no idea of Tom’s preferences or whether or not he was single, or if it was okay to be asking his boss’s nephew out on a date - or if this was even really asking for a date because guys went out for drinks all the time and maybe his entire meaning was being misconstrued, maybe Tom thought he was some kind of creep—

Tom -   
Sorry, I was washing up before bed.

Tom -   
I’d love to. I should be free around seven. Send me the address tomorrow?

Ed released a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding, typing his reply with traitorously trembling hands. 

Ed -   
Sure. I’ll let you know tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing you.

Ed -   
Goodnight, Tom.

Even with the late hour, and a long day behind him, and a few good drinks in him, it took Edward an obscenely long time to fall asleep after their exchange, excitement lingering in the back of his mind as he tried to rest. It wasn’t until almost two o’clock that he really started to settle, the day finally catching up with him, along with some very firm self-reasoning that if he didn’t get any sleep, he’d be too tired to hold a conversation by the time they were supposed to meet up.

Little did he know that across the city, Tom was still sitting up in bed, re-reading their messages with a huge grin on his face, thoroughly excited for the night to come.


	2. Tuesday

_Tuesday._

Morning came too fast. Edward’s sleep had come fitfully, an awful, restless kind of night that had him groaning when his alarm went off. Usually, being up so early didn’t bother him. Today, he couldn’t quite seem to keep his eyes open - until his phone buzzed and his heart leaped and he remembered the conversation from the night before. It all came rushing back at once. He reached for his phone, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand, and squinting down at the screen. The typical notifications were there, a number of emails from various work contacts, a reminder of his afternoon meeting with Mister Fitzjames, nothing out of the ordinary. There was a text from Graham, asking how the conversation had gone and if he’d gotten home okay, since no one had heard from him after he’d left. And then, there was another, much more important message, telling in its timing - Tom had been thinking about him.

Tom -   
Good morning Edward! Let me know if we’re still on for tonight?

Tom -   
I’m really looking forward to it.

Ed deliberated for just a minute over whether or not texting back right away would make him seem to eager. He had mentioned the night before that he always woke up at seven thirty, so Tom had likely anticipated that he’d be up by now. It was sweet of him, actually, to have remembered that. And he hadn’t been the first to text either, so he eventually reasoned that it was probably alright to reply right away.

Ed -   
You’re up early. Hope you got some rest last night.

Ed -  
Definitely still on for tonight. Here’s the place.

He sent along an address for a cute, quiet little pub not too far from the office, a place that he’d occasionally gone with the guys. On weekends, it got a little rowdy, but mid-week, it would be the perfect spot to sit and have a drink and some good conversation. 

Ed -   
I’m looking forward to it too. Still good for 7?

Tom -  
Seven it is. I’ll be there.

Ed -   
Great. I’ll see you then.

Tired or not, that little confirmation that they were both excited to see one another was enough to give Edward the energy to get himself out of bed and start getting ready for work. With a pot of coffee on, he picked out an outfit that was a little nicer than his typical mid-week work attire, and spent a few minutes fussing over his hair in the mirror. He needed a hair cut. It was starting to curl at the ends, where he usually kept it carefully straight and set. That was something to worry about later in the week, when he wasn’t already running slightly late for work. Grabbing a thermos of coffee and some toast, he was out the door just a few minutes behind schedule, his mind already skipping past the busy day of work ahead of him and focusing wholeheartedly on his plans for the night.

\---

By some miracle - _thank you traffic gods_ \- he managed to be right on time. That in itself was odd behavior, he knew, because he was generally a few minutes early so that he could be settled at his desk and ready by the time he was actually supposed to be in the office. If anyone noticed, they didn’t immediately bring it to his attention, and he hastened in making sure that he was set up for the day. Meeting a cute guy wasn’t any excuse not to give two hundred percent professionally. For all of his excitement, he knew that he needed to put that aside, and focus on work instead of wondering how Tom was doing.

It turned out that he didn’t need to wonder. Within the hour, he’d received another text from Tom, asking how his morning was going. Between reviewing articles for next month’s publication, he spared a few minutes to reply that he wasn’t terribly busy but that he still had to keep on top of things, and was delighted to hear back that Tom was enjoying a nice afternoon out in the city, working on his first assignment. They chatted back and forth throughout the morning, messages delayed here and there when one or the other became too busy to be able to reply, and through it all, Edward could not ignore that building sense of eagerness for the day to be over, so that he could stop imagining Tom’s voice through the text messages and instead hear all of the stories of his busy day in person.

Lunch time came, and he was tempted to spend it at his desk, if only to get a little privacy from the number of prying questions that he was sure were waiting for him after last night. That option was quickly dashed when Graham stopped by, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving a good squeeze. “Come on, up you get,” he said, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled Ed’s chair back away from his desk for him. “You’re not skipping out on lunch that easily.”

Resigned to being badgered through the entirety of his break, Ed pushed himself to his feet and followed Graham into the break room, where John and Dundy were already settled, waiting for them. He’d just have to be as vague as possible. It was just an hour, and then he could be back to the privacy of his desk.

“Ahh, there he is, casanova himself,” Dundy commented as they approached the table; he was already pulling out a chair for Ed to sit next to him, looking altogether too smug about the entire situation. Why they had to make such a big deal about the entire thing was beyond him.

Edward dropped down into the offered seat, rolling his eyes. “Alright lads, let’s get it over with,” he sighed, sitting back and looking around the table at the combination curious and teasing looks given to him by his coworkers. “What do you want to know?”

“Well. You could start with who he is. All that I’ve gathered is that he doesn’t seem to be working in the office, or we would have seen him this morning,” John pointed out, between bites of his sandwich.

“His name is Thomas. He’s freelancing as a photographer,” Ed answered, and was about to continue on, when he was interrupted almost immediately.

“Ooh. A photographer. I knew you liked the artsy type,” Dundy interjected, turning slightly to angle himself toward Ed, leaning with one elbow on the table. “So? Did you get his number? Or did you forget?”

Graham chuckled. “If we’re going by how he’s dressed, then I’d assume he got his number,” he pointed out, and Edward turned his head to glare in his direction. 

“ _He_ is sitting right here with you, in case you’ve forgotten,” he huffed, folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t mean to get defensive, but it had been a very long time since he’d even been on a date, and it felt uncomfortable at best, having his friends talk about him and his love life while he was sitting right there. “Yes. I got his number. I’m…taking him out for drinks after work.”

There was a moment of shocked silence around the table, and then Dundy gave a low whistle. “Way to go, Ned! Never would have thought you’d have it in you. Asking a cute guy out on a date without having a meltdown about it…I’m impressed.”

Groaning, Ed let his head lull back, staring up at the ceiling, because it was easier than looking at all of the grinning faces around him. “That’s the problem,” he muttered, lifting his hands to rub at his eyes. “I don’t know if it’s a date. I don’t even know if he’s into men or not. I just…asked if he wanted to get drinks, he agreed, but we didn’t…” 

“Didn’t define it, huh?” Graham finished for him, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll make more sense after tonight. Don’t beat yourself up about it too much. For what it’s worth, it sure as hell looked like he was flirting with you from our angle.” 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Ed continued, a hand still covering his eyes as he spoke. “He’s Crozier’s nephew.” 

“Oh heck,” John blurted, then cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. “I mean. You’re not his supervisor. By the rules it’s—”

“It’s fine, I know. But I’m less concerned about the handbook than I am about my boss’s opinion of me taking his nephew out on a date.” Sitting forward again, he heaved a sigh. “I don’t even know what the etiquette is on that.” 

Dundy shrugged, lifting his mug to take a sip of his coffee before he answered. “If I were you, I wouldn’t say anything to Francis just yet. Talk to Thomas about it first. He might have some insight,” he offered, over the rim of the mug. “I mean. You should probably figure out if it’s even a date first. And then maybe broach that subject.” 

It was solid advice, but somehow only made Edward all the more anxious, because he was supposed to be meeting up with Tom in just a few short hours for something that might or might not have even been a date at all, and he was going in utterly unprepared for the possibility that it would lean either way. He was just about to open his mouth to reply when his phone vibrated in his pocket, and that immediately derailed his entire train of thought as he dug for it. Tom had sent him a picture of some pretty garden that he was shooting that afternoon. The grin that spread across his face was entirely involuntary, and he quickly typed back a reply, telling him what a lovely spot it was and how much he was looking forward to seeing the photos eventually. 

“Ahh, he’s got it bad. Look at that grin,” Graham smirked, nudging him and drawing him back to reality. He looked up from his phone screen, feeling his cheeks warm at their playful teasing, though for all that they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying getting a rise out of him, Edward found himself at least somewhat thankful for having their support.

From across the table, John gave him a genuinely friendly smile, pushing a little container toward him with an assortment of snacks, having noticed that Ed hadn’t brought his own lunch that day. “Don’t let these two bother you,” he said, shaking his head in only partially feigned dismay at their behavior. “I’m sure it’ll go wonderfully. You already seemed to get along with him so well last night.”

“Suppose you’re right,” Ed finally conceded, sitting up and reaching to snatch a pretzel out of the offered container. “Are you lot done harassing me about my date tonight? It’s hardly the scandal that you’re all making it out to be.”

“Hm. Taking the boss’s nephew on a date right after meeting him…sounds pretty scandalous to me,” Dundy teased, only to be quickly elbowed by an apologetic John. “Oof—sorry. I was just kidding. You’ll be just fine.”

Thankfully, the conversation veered off into other directions after that, and the remainder of their lunch break was as non-stressful as it possibly could have been. It helped to pass the time, at least, and soon enough, he had to abandon them in favor of his afternoon meeting with Mister Fitzjames so that they could finalize the upcoming month’s publication before it was sent to print. It occupied the vast majority of his afternoon, and made time pass much more quickly than it would have if he was alone at his desk and caught up in the maelstrom of thoughts that had been distracting him since he’d woken up that morning. By the time they were through, it was just a matter of answering a few emails and then it was time to close up.

Suddenly, the daunting task of trying to figure out whether this was a date or just two coworkers going out for a drink was forefront in his mind, and for all that he hadn’t felt particularly _nervous_ about any of this, Ed was sure starting to now. He made a stop at the bathroom on the way out, running his fingers through his hair and trying to smooth down a bit that had gotten messy through the day, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. Should he have shaved? He would have looked neater, maybe, that way, but then again, Tom had seemed to like him enough how he’d looked the day before. At least, he had according to the others. He spent way too long fretting over his appearance, straightening his tie only to finally decide to take it off and unbutton the top button of his shirt, hoping that a more casual look would be more appealing.

It was a message from Tom that finally pulled him away from the mirror:

Tom -   
Heading out now. Can’t wait to see you.

Ed stared down at his phone for a long moment, letting out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, some of that tension melting away at the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one who was genuinely looking forward to their night out together. He really was worrying way too much. 

Ed -  
Me either. I’ll be there soon.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he took one final look at himself, scoffing at his own strange moment of vanity, and then headed out, trying to ignore the racing of his heart as he made his way to his waiting car.

\---

The _Leaning Anchor_ attracted two distinctly different crowds, depending on what night of the week it was. On weekends, it hosted a much younger group, college students and people who were looking to get completely wasted. It was louder then, more of a party place, boasting a more top-40 playlist, and Ed had witnessed a few bar fights there in his time. During the week, however, things seemed to slow to a near-crawl, and it was mostly professionals who were stopping by for a drink after work. The music was quieter, seemed to fade into the background over the low chatter of people having good discussions in the various booths that lined the walls. It was much more his pace, now that he was a working man, and no longer had the energy to go out to the sorts of parties that the weekend would bring.

Tom had texted a few minutes prior, telling him that he’d arrived and that he was going to grab a booth for them. That was just as well - it gave Edward a moment to steady himself before he went in, greeted by the warm smell of whatever was cooking in the tiny kitchen - probably some rich stew to be served up for the next day’s lunch special. Most of the tables were occupied, and he weaved his way through them, hands shoved into his pockets as he looked around for a familiar face. He found Tom toward the back, in a quiet little booth out of the way, sipping at a glass of water as he waited. For a minute, Ed kept a few steps back and admired him; he looked absolutely lovely, dressed relatively casually in a fitted polo, with a light leather jacket pulled over it, obviously intended to be classy enough for work, but comfortable enough to work in. His dark hair was falling into his face, those pretty, bright eyes focused on the screen of his phone, and it wasn’t until Ed got closer that he realized that Tom had been reading over their messages again, that knowledge bringing a flush to his cheeks.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, in way of greeting, and Tom looked up immediately, his mouth splitting into a wide grin as he moved to get up. Edward made a quick gesture, insisting that he didn’t need to stand, and slid into the seat across from him. 

“No, no, you’re fine, I was just right in the area so I’m a little early,” Tom insisted, sitting up properly and tucking his phone away into his pocket. “Thanks for the invitation. You were definitely right when you said that this was my kind of place.”

“The guys and I used to come here pretty often, before happy hour became a thing,” Ed explained, shrugging out of his own jacket and neatly folding it, setting it on the bench next to him. “It’s never too crowded mid-week, and they’ve got some pretty decent drink specials. Speaking of which.” He reached for the drink menu that was tucked away in a rack at the far end of the table, setting it down between them. “What’s your usual?”

“Can’t say that I’ve got a usual, really,” Tom replied easily, leaning forward with his elbows propped up on the table, his chin resting in his palms, to look over the menu. “Depends on the mood. Some nights I’m a whiskey man, but some nights are just meant for a good beer.” He glanced up at Ed, fixing him with one of those pretty smiles of his. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a good red wine either. We could share a bottle between us.”

Edward nodded, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the way that his insides twisted whenever Tom looked at him like that. “Red wine it is,” he answered, tapping his fingers idly against the menu as his gaze trailed down over the list. They had a decently impressive selection, and he admittedly didn’t know nearly as much about wine as he would have liked to in that moment. Thankfully, a waitress came to his rescue, and he asked her for recommendations. They ended up with a nice bottle of merlot and two glasses between them. Tom seemed happy with it, humming softly as he took his first sip.

“Good choice,” he said, with an affirming nod, swirling the liquid around the glass. Ed, meanwhile, even as sober as he was, could focus on nothing but the slight bob of Tom’s throat as he swallowed, the way his tongue darted out over his lips briefly, savoring the taste of it. He wondered, absently, if he kissed him, could he taste the wine on Tom’s lips, and if its flavor would be all the sweeter for it. Best not to think of that, he chided himself, as he lifted his own glass and took a sip. The flavor was pleasant enough, and though he knew he’d likely have a headache from it by the time the night was through, it was worth it to see Tom enjoying it.

“So. That garden you were shooting at today,” Ed began, finding himself genuinely interested. “It looked nice. Certainly a better way to spend an afternoon than cooped up in an office. Was that an assignment for the company, or…?”

Tom shook his head. “No, I was photographing an event for the historical society for the magazine. The garden was a personal project,” he replied. “I’ve had a thing for playing with colors lately, and something about all of the flowers being in bloom was…terribly appealing. I was walking by, on my way back home, so that I could get on editing, and I just…couldn’t resist.” 

There was something very charming about the thought that a beautiful garden full of flowers had been so enchanting to Tom, and Ed found himself honestly smiling as he imagined it. Their industry could be so cutthroat. He’d run into so many photographers who had lost their passion and were just going through the routine to make enough money to live. The way that Tom spoke of his work made it clear that he wasn’t one of those men. He was doing it for the love of his art. Edward knew that he needed more people like that in his life. He took another sip of his wine. “I bet you got some fantastic shots.”

“Oh, I did. The lighting was just perfect, and with the rain a few days ago, everything is green and blooming and alive…” Tom’s voice trailed off, and he glanced toward the messenger bag set down on the bench next to him. “I could show you if you’d like? None of it is edited yet, obviously, so don’t judge too hard, but—”

“Don’t worry about it, I get it,” Edward insisted, setting his glass down and scooting forward in his seat as Tom carefully opened his camera bag and took it out, focused on the screen as he flipped through all of the shots he’d taken that afternoon. He turned the camera around then, to reveal a stunning picture that, even to Ed’s trained eye, didn’t seem as if it needed very much editing at all. Dappled golden light fell across a cluster of pretty pink and purple flowers, their colors stunningly vivid and the details impressively clear, right down to a tiny fly that was settled on one of the petals. He whistled appreciatively, glancing up at Tom to catch him looking back, those pretty eyes full of eager curiosity, waiting to see Ed’s reaction to his work.

“Editing or not, that’s…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “Tom, that’s impressive as hell. You’ve got some serious talent.” 

“Thank you,” Tom replied, looking almost relieved, as if he’d genuinely been nervous about Ed’s opinion. Why anyone with such an eye would worry about that was beyond him. “Like I said, the lighting was just right, and nature was cooperating for once…here…this one’s pretty decent too…”

  


  


They went through a few dozen pictures, and with each one that came up on the screen - one shot of some pretty daisies blowing in the wind, another of a line of rose bushes in full bloom, a cute candid shot of a rabbit peeking out from under the roots of a tree - Ed found himself more and more impressed. No wonder Francis had been willing to put aside the possible complications of having a family member working for the company. Thomas really was very good at his profession.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what suddenly made you want to take this on as a full-time job?” Edward asked, as he reached for his glass again, taking a swig. “It’s pretty rare to see a newcomer with such impressive technical knowledge. I get people coming in applying for contract positions who don’t even have half the know-how that you do.” 

Tom’s cheeks were flushed pink, and he looked down at the table between them for a moment, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Ed had to quickly swallow down a little more wine because the weird, flustered feeling he got in his chest at the sight of him like that was almost too much to bear. “You’re…incredibly sweet, thank you,” Tom murmured, as he set his camera back in its case, and reached for the bottle of wine, to top off both of their glasses. “I’ve been doing this as a hobby for quite some time. My mother…” His smile fell a little at the mention of her. “She told me that I could never make a living off of it. She pushed me to go to college, and when I told her that I wanted to study art, she wouldn’t hear it. I signed up for business classes. Hated every minute of it.” 

There was melancholy just beneath the surface of his words, and Ed was compelled to reach out to take his hand, but didn’t dare. They still hadn’t clarified what was expected of one another, and it wasn’t his place, but he offered a sympathetic smile instead. “Can’t honestly imagine you as a business major. That sort of thing just bleeds the life out of you.” 

Nodding, Tom sighed and leaned back in his seat, absent-mindedly swirling the wine around in his glass. “I pushed through it, and ended up taking a job as an intern at this god-awful finance company. I had no energy for anything else, and so I stopped taking photos. It wasn’t until a friend of mine was getting married and asked if I would be his photographer that I picked it up again.” The smile had returned, and Ed almost wanted to breathe out a sigh of relief. “It felt so good to be out there, doing what I loved. And the couple absolutely adored my work. I started shooting family events on weekends, and when I wasn’t booked, I was finding interesting things to take pictures of, going on outings to the seaside, or to whatever events were happening in town. I had forgotten how good it felt to do what I loved.” 

“By then, I was living on my own, thanks to my salary at the company. My mum had very little say in the matter, when I finally put in my two weeks notice and started applying for contracted jobs. She hasn’t spoken to me since then, but the rest of my family supports me. Francis is my uncle through marriage, he’s my uncle’s wife’s brother. So…not even technically my uncle, as far as I understand, but when I spoke to him about wanting to find a more permanent position, he was happy to let me give it my best shot. It feels incredible to be out here doing what I’ve always loved to do.” Tom gave a soft, short laugh, and lifted his glass once more, taking a long gulp. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump my entire life story on you.”

“No! No, it’s—” Ed began, shaking his head. _I could listen to you talk for hours, about literally anything,_ his mind helpfully supplied, but he stopped that before it could blurt out of his mouth. “It’s fine, really, I’m honored you trust me enough to share that with me. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you followed your passion. It’s obviously what you’re meant to be doing with your life.” His fingers tapped thoughtfully against the side of his glass, as he debated voicing something else that was right on the tip of his tongue. “It’s nice to see someone who is actually still wholeheartedly excited about his work,” he said, after a moment, when what he really meant was, _You’re adorable when you’re so enthusiastic about your passion._

“I don’t ever want to become one of those people who are just in it for the paycheck,” Tom agreed, seeming to catch Ed’s meaning. “If photography ever stops being what I love, I want to chase after what makes me happy. Having stability is one thing, but at the expense of true satisfaction in one’s work?” He shrugged. “I never want to end up hating my job again. That’s no way to live.”

“Agreed.” Edward held his glass up, reaching across the table to clink it against Tom’s own. “To passion?”

Something in Tom’s smile changed then, his eyes shining with something that was — was Ed imagining it? _Flirtatious?_ “To passion,” he agreed, his gaze holding Ed’s just a little longer before he took another sip of wine. He shifted slightly, and under the table, his foot brushed against Ed’s. He didn’t pull it away. “Hey. Stay like that for a sec. Don’t move.” 

He was reaching for his camera again, and for a minute Ed looked puzzled, until he realized what was going on. “Wait, wait, no, I’m not—” He laughed, just as Tom held the camera up. He wanted to protest, that he wasn’t photogenic enough to deserve Tom’s talent, that he wasn’t dressed for a photoshoot, that he looked a mess from a long day at work, but before he could say any of it, there was a bright flash and a click, and Tom was looking down at the screen with a wide grin. 

“Perfect…” he murmured, eyes flickering back up to look at Ed across the table. “I wanted to remember this moment. I have a feeling this is going to be the first of many nights out together.” 

For a minute, Edward was speechless, his mouth opening and then promptly closing. Tom was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? “I…yeah,” he finally managed, sounding way more stunned than he’d honestly meant to. He could feel himself blushing. “I’d like that. If you want to. Go out with me more often, I mean.” _Ugh. Smooth._

Tom’s soft laughter carried across the table as he tucked his camera away once more. “So this is a date then?” he asked, boldly, the toe of his shoe brushing against Ed’s ankle. “I was a little worried that I was misreading everything. I’m not always the best at that kind of thing.”

Edward was nodding before his brain could even catch up with the sudden turn of events enough to come up with a proper vocal answer. “I was kind of hoping so, yeah,” he chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. He almost wanted to express how stunned he was that Tom actually had wanted to go on a date with him in the first place, but didn’t dare vocalize it, for fear of ruining a perfect moment. 

“I would’ve asked you in person last night if I wasn’t worried about coming on too strong.” Tom leaned forward, propping his chin up in his palm, looking thoroughly amused by Ed’s embarrassment. “You never know if you’re overstepping boundaries with someone new. I wasn’t sure if you were single either, though if I’m being entirely honest—’ He leaned in a little closer, and continued in a slightly more conspiratorial tone, “—I’m a little tipsy, so sorry in advance, but the way you were looking at me last night made it very, very obvious that you’re into men. Or, specifically, that you were into me.” 

Ed was suddenly torn with the want to either sink into the floor or disappear entirely, just _poof_ out of existence, because he really hadn’t thought he was being _that_ obvious the night prior. Of course his friends had been able to see it, they knew him well enough. But the fact that he’d done such a poor job at hiding his attraction to Tom was utterly humiliating, and he had to lift a hand to rub at his eyes for a minute, trying to compose himself. “I, uh. I guess I should apologize for that?” he managed. “If it made you uncomfortable or…”

“I wouldn’t have exchanged phone numbers with you or accepted your invitation tonight if I was uncomfortable,” Tom pointed out, reaching across the table to let his fingers brush against Ed’s hand, just for the briefest moment, before he reached for the bottle of wine again. He emptied the last of it into their glasses. “Wow. Look at us. Almost a whole bottle already. I’m thoroughly impressed.” 

“Mm,” Ed answered, still reeling from how quickly things had gone from zero to a hundred. At least he had some answers that he’d been hoping for. Knowing that his interest was returned made it a lot easier to see where they were both standing. It was still bordering on shocking, that someone as handsome and talented and full of life as Thomas would be attracted to someone like him, but he definitely was not going to complain.

“Don’t fret over it, Edward,” Tom interjected, obviously picking up on his discomfort. “It’s very flattering. I’m glad that you asked me to come out tonight. I really do enjoy your company.” His foot brushed against Ed’s leg again, and that cheeky little smile was back. “Besides, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t also find you incredibly attractive. When you came over to talk to me last night, I was certain I was going to embarrass myself.” 

“You? Embarrass yourself?” Ed laughed, as if it was one of the funniest jokes he’d heard in a very, very long while. “You’re kidding, right?” Sweet, handsome, smart, funny, talented Thomas had been worried about not measuring up? Absolutely ridiculous. 

Tom pouted, almost comically, definitely much more exaggerated than was strictly necessary. “Of course I’m not kidding. A good-looking man like you…I was nervous that I’d say something off-putting by accident. And…” He smirked, and it was quite possibly the most dangerous thing that Ed had seen him do thus far. “I didn’t want you to stop looking at me the way that you were. It felt good.” 

“Didn’t peg you to be such a flirt, but I’m definitely not complaining.” Ed downed the rest of his wine and set the glass aside, feeling a little rush of heat that had nothing at all to do with the alcohol. His toes pushed up under the hem of Tom’s trousers, and nudged against his ankle. Watching his date’s smirk only grow at their playful banter was a treat in and of itself. “Thanks for not thinking I’m a total creep. Real vote of confidence there.” 

“You’re welcome. Thanks for not being judgey about me flirting with you so shamelessly on our first date.” 

“I thought that flirting was what you’re supposed to do on dates,” Edward pointed out, “If nothing else, I’m behind.”

“Guess that just means that you need to catch up,” Tom offered, with a wink.

They were interrupted by the waitress stopping by, and Ed ordered them a round of waters and some chips to nibble on, so that they could both sober up enough to be safe to get home, even though it was terribly tempting to just order another bottle and keep the night going. Even then, over their snack, they spent another hour chatting about everything and anything. Edward learned that Tom had only recently come out, and that it was another reason that his mother was avoiding him; he offered his condolences on the matter. His own coming out had been a quiet thing, his family and friends supported him, and he was lucky for that fact, he knew. When a question came about his previous relationships, he shrugged it off, letting on only enough to explain that the last one hadn’t ended particularly well, and that he kind of wanted to leave it at that. Tom was a gentleman and didn’t press for more, but did reach across the table to give his hand a good squeeze in sympathy. 

It wasn’t until Ed started to feel tired that he realized how late it had gotten. It was already past ten, and as much as he was enjoying himself, he had an early meeting in the morning and really couldn’t afford to be late for it. He insisted on paying for their drinks, despite Tom’s protesting, stating the fact that he’d been the one to extend the invitation in the first place. That seemed to be enough of a good reason, and Tom thanked him softly as they got to their feet and headed out toward the parking lot.

As they walked through the parking lot together, Ed could feel his heart hammering in his chest again. What was the appropriate way to say goodbye? Should he give Tom a hug? Dare to lean in for a kiss? Maybe neither of those because they’d only known each other since the night prior and even if they’d spent the entire evening flirting with each other, that wasn’t automatically some sort of green light. But if he didn’t do something, maybe Tom would take it as a sign that he wasn’t all that interested after all? Maybe he’d be disappointed?

“This is me,” said Tom, from somewhere beside him, stopping at the end of an older and well-loved car, turning to face Ed. “I, um. Thank you. For tonight. This was really lovely.” 

“Yeah, I had a really great time,” Edward agreed, shoving his hands into his pockets, to keep himself from fidgeting. “Thanks for coming out with me. I’m hoping you were right about this being the first of many.”

“Actually…” Tom glanced off to the side, running a hand through his hair and tucking it back behind his ear. “I was thinking. If you don’t have plans tomorrow, maybe we could grab dinner? I’m going to be holed up editing all day, and I think getting out afterward might be nice.” 

How was he so damn cute? How was a grown man the absolute most adorable person that Edward had laid eyes on in probably years? The shy lilt to his voice, the way he shuffled nervously from foot to foot, as if asking for a second date was almost unimaginable. Ed couldn’t have turned him down even if he wanted to. And he most certainly did not want to. “Yeah, I’d love that,” he answered, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm over the idea. “We can chat tomorrow and figure somewhere out. There’s a couple of good places not to far from my place. Or I can head out your way, whatever you’re feeling up to.” 

Tom’s entire face seemed to light up at his offer being accepted. “Great,” he grinned, “I’ll be looking forward to it.” 

There was a moment where they both stood there, not quite sure what else to say, and Ed took it as an invitation. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he took a step forward with his arms outstretched, and Tom’s smile only widened as he closed the distance between them, arms sliding around Edward’s torso and pulling him into a warm hug. There was a moment, where their lips hovered just inches apart, and then Tom leaned up and pressed a light kiss to Ed’s cheek, before pulling back.

“I don’t kiss on first dates, as a rule,” he murmured, a dark flush spread across his cheeks, those pretty eyes flickering up to meet Edward’s own as they lingered close together. “…but maybe tomorrow, if you’re lucky.” He finally withdrew the rest of the way, cheeky grin back in place as he took a few steps back toward his car. “Goodnight, Edward.” 

“Goodnight, Tom,” Ed replied, a goofy grin on his own spread across his face as he began to walk backward toward where his own car was parked, on the other side of the lot. He watched as Tom opened the door to his car, lingered in the open doorway, waving goodbye to him. “Get home safe, okay?” he called, unable to help himself.

“You too,” Tom called back, leaning against the roof of the car and watching him. “Text me and let me know when you get home?”

“You got it. You do the same, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, now just…” Tom laughed, as Ed nearly stumbled over his feet, shaking his head. “Turn around! Watch where you’re going! You’ll see me tomorrow.” 

Edward was laughing too, as he righted himself and waved. “Okay, okay. Goodnight.”

He waited until Tom had pulled out of the parking lot to leave, feeling near-giddy with how well everything had gone. With the music turned up high, that euphoria lingered with him the whole way home. The promise of another date the next night was enough in and of itself, but combined with the lingering warmth of Tom’s lips against his cheek, he couldn’t keep from grinning. He whistled as he microwaved a quick bite to eat, opted to wait to shower until the morning, and within an hour of coming home, had already tucked himself into bed. Maybe it was a little earlier than usual, but an early night’s sleep meant that the next day would come that much sooner. 

It definitely promised to be a good one.


	3. Wednesday

_Wednesday._

  
Tom -   
Morning Edward! No hangover this morning I hope?

He had sent the text at exactly seven thirty. Working from home for the day, there was no reason at all for Tom to be up so early. The truth was that he hadn’t been able to sleep most of the night, still all worked up from their date, and eager for their dinner to come. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t particularly tired anyway. Besides, that’s what naps were invented for.

His morning started with the radio playing some happy, upbeat song, and a nice veggie omelet, made as he danced around the kitchen barefoot. The sun was streaming in through the window, warming patches on the cool tile floor, just another thing to add to what was already a particularly good mood. He took his place on the couch cross-legged with his breakfast and a glass of juice, with some cheesy morning talk show playing in the background, trying to resist the urge to check his phone every two minutes to see if Edward had replied yet.

The truth was, despite having been publicly out for a few months now, he’d had very little luck when it came to dating other men. His last serious relationship had been with a woman, a fellow student from his time at college, and while they’d gotten on well, he’d never quite felt the sparks that everyone seemed to talk about. He’d had to let her down gently when a session with his therapist had helped him put two and two together. The fact was that he simply wasn’t attracted to her - or, women in general, as he’d come to realize. They had been good friends, and he cared for her, but it didn’t run any deeper than that. He hadn’t ever gone through a break up before that, and it had thankfully been as amicable as it possibly could be after three long years spent together. Even with his newfound realizations, dating men was a daunting task for someone who was still coming to terms with exactly who he was.

Edward gave him those mythical butterflies that every cheesy romance novel seemed to mention. It was the first time he’d felt like that about someone, and suddenly, a lot of those novels made more sense. He’d slept with a few men since coming out, but it was never more than a one-night stand. They certainly didn’t agree to a second date, nevermind as eagerly as Ed had. It left him feeling all kinds of wonderful, if not a little apprehensive of how much time he was already wanting to spend with him.

His phone buzzed where he’d left it on the table and he looked over at it, the message on the screen immediately grabbing his attention.

Edward Little -  
Bit of a headache, nothing I can’t deal with. How are you feeling?

Tom -   
I’m doing just fine. You probably saved me with the water and chips, honestly.

Edward Little -   
Yeah, figured we could both use it.

Edward Little -   
I’m gonna be in a meeting most of the morning, so I might not be quick to reply.

Edward Little -   
Just thought I’d give you a heads up.

Tom -  
Thanks for letting me know. I hope it goes well.

Tom -   
Are we still on for tonight?

He didn’t mean to sound like he was concerned about their plans being canceled for one reason or another, and if it so happened that Edward was just not feeling up to it after a busy day, then he’d be fine with that. They could always reschedule. Still, he was hoping that wasn’t the case. It had only been a few hours since they’d been together, and he was already missing Edward’s smile.

Edward Little -  
Yeah, though I was thinking. You should come to mine.

Edward Little -   
I could cook you something. Might be a little more low-key than going out somewhere.

Oh. Now there was a lovely idea. Tom himself was a decent cook, and loved a good homemade meal. But it was a special treat, having someone else cook for him, and he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to scope out Ed’s skills. Plus, being alone meant that they would be able to have a better conversation, without the noise of other people around them. 

Tom -   
That would be wonderful. Let me bring drinks at least?

Edward Little -   
Sounds great. Whatever you’re in the mood for is good.

Edward Little -   
Is a late dinner okay? Eight-ish?

Tom -  
Absolutely. I don’t have anywhere to be but home.

Edward Little -   
Good. Eight it is. See you tonight.

Tom -   
I can’t wait! :) 

His omelet long forgotten, Tom suddenly found that he couldn’t quite sit still. He pushed himself up off of the couch and changed into some sweats and a comfortable t-shirt, grabbed his towel and headed down to the apartment complex’s gym. He’d been lacking the motivation to exercise lately, and the sudden burst of excitement in anticipation of their shared dinner was exactly what he needed to get him going.

___

“So? How did it go?”

Edward looked up from his desk, and the veritable pile of submissions for the magazine that he was sorting through. John was standing there, leaning up against the edge of the cubicle, looking like he was dying to know the answer. Why his friends seemed so interested in his love life was beyond him - then again, when John had first come out and had started officially dating his now-fiance, one Thomas Hartnell, they’d bugged him about it for weeks. Ed supposed this was retribution, even if he hadn’t been responsible for the vast majority of the teasing.

“It went well,” he answered, after a moment; it was the least that he could do, considering the support that John had been showing him through this strange and sudden development in his life. “We shared a bottle of wine, chatted for a few hours.”

“So was it a date then?”

“It was. Apparently he was nervous that I was misconstruing his intentions. Glad we were both on the same page in that sense. Apparently I was a lot less discreet than I’d thought.” Edward chuckled, turning in his chair so that he could properly face his friend. “We still haven’t discussed…” He nodded his head toward a closed office door across the way from them, where Crozier was busy on some important conference call. “But he’s coming over to mine for dinner tonight. I’m going to work through lunch and try to get my workload handled so I can get out a little early and cook him something nice.” 

John’s face lit up with genuine happiness as Ed spoke. “That’s wonderful,” he enthused. “I knew you’d be alright once you got there. Do you need a coffee or something?”

Edward shook his head. “Nah. I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“Alright. Well. Make sure you take a break at some point today. You don’t want to be too worn out by the time he comes around.” He patted Ed on the shoulder, and then disappeared around the corner, leaving him to his work. It was a lot to handle, and he’d set himself a pretty tight deadline, but it would be worth the extra push to get through it. With some luck, he’d be able to leave early enough to stop at the market on the way home and make the kind of meal that someone like Tom deserved. 

___

After a good hour spent in the gym, running to his favorite motivational playlist, Tom returned to his apartment for a shower, and dove right into his work afterward, despite how his mind kept wandering. He had to have a set of pictures submitted by the following morning for his first assignment, and if he intended on staying out late tonight with Edward, then he’d have to get it all done before dinner. It was a blessing, of sorts, that Edward was indisposed all morning, because the temptation to text him was almost unbearable. Instead, Tom left his phone far enough away from his workspace that he wouldn’t give in, and buried himself in the process of picking out and editing the best of the best of his shots from the day prior.

It was as he was going through them that he found the photo that he’d taken of Edward the night before - all warm and rosy-cheeked and smiling widely, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. It was far too soon to have any assumptions as far as feelings went, but there was no denying the very distinct warmth that he felt in his chest just then. He spared a couple of minutes to adjust the lighting in the picture; it didn’t need much more retouching in his opinion, though perhaps he was biased in that sense.

The afternoon flew by. Tom forced himself to take a brief nap to make up for how little he’d slept the night before, and at least partially in hopes that dinner would go well and that they could spend more time together than they had the night prior. It didn’t last long, however, because he found himself fidgety and excited, and a text from Edward around four woke him from what had been a mostly futile effort at rest anyway. 

Edward Little -   
Should have asked - do you have any allergies?

Tom -   
None that I know of. I don’t really do spicy food though.

Edward Little -   
That’s fine, just wanted to make sure I don’t accidentally kill you with dinner.

Tom -   
How thoughtful! Not sure we could call it a successful date if one or the other of us died. ;)

Edward Little -   
I mean. You’re not wrong.

Edward Little -   
Alright. Running to the market now. I’ll see you later tonight. 

Tom -  
Be safe! :)

Setting his phone aside, Tom yawned and stretched and pushed himself out of bed once more. Four hours to go. He spent much longer than was strictly necessary fussing over what he should wear, standing in front of his closet and picking out a number of outfits and laying them across the bed. Considering they weren’t going out anywhere fancy, there wasn’t really a need to dress up. Then again, he wasn’t about to show up to Edward’s apartment looking like an absolute mess either - it was still an excuse to dress up a little, at least. He ended up picking out a soft, red short-sleeved button-down, and the nicest pair of skinny jeans that he owned. Hopefully Edward would appreciate a slightly more casual outfit given the more intimate setting.

And that left him right at four forty, with absolutely nothing left to do to distract himself until dinner came around. Wonderful. Nothing playing on TV was particularly attention-grabbing, and Tom was left restless, checking the time so often that it seemed to have crawled to a near-halt. Groaning, he stretched out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Another nap, maybe? Or he could try to find a book that was distracting enough to keep him from his almost constant thoughts of a man who he’d only met two days ago? 

The entire situation was ridiculous, and he felt silly for how eager he was. But that was inherently a good thing, wasn’t it? As nervous as he was about letting his heart drag him into unknown territory, it had been a while since someone had made him feel so happy, without even really having to do much other than exist. Maybe, he thought, the best thing to do was to just let it all play out. Things would work out, or they wouldn’t, and that was just fine.

Though secretly, he was quite hoping that things would work out that night, at the very least - he’d kept his promise to himself, not to kiss Edward on their first night out, and he was very much looking forward to breaking that rule after dinner.

___

Edward’s trip to the market had been quick and easy. He was fortunate to have such an understanding boss and to be given the opportunity to leave early, though he still hadn’t mentally figured out how to reconcile that he’d been leaving early specifically to cook dinner for his boss’s nephew. That was something he might have to bring up over dinner, if they intended to make a habit out of this. It was a concern he put aside for the time being, as he loaded up his cart with the ingredients he’d need to make dinner, stopping at the bakery counter to pick up a box filled with cute little fresh-baked fruit tarts. He thought Tom might like them, sweet and bursting with flavor, and considering his recent fascination in playing with color, the bright reds and oranges and blues and greens of the fruit under the apricot glaze might just appeal to him a little more than the average person. 

With dessert settled, he checked out and made a quick dash home. It was already five, and he needed to shower and change and somehow make sure that dinner was on the table once Tom arrived. He seemed the type to be punctual, so there wasn’t a moment to waste. 

His final decision was a dark blue shirt, neatly tucked into his slacks, and a tie - even if it felt a little formal for dinner in his apartment. He did roll up the sleeves once he was back out in the kitchen, mostly to keep them from getting too dirty while he was cooking. Not that he figured it was going to be that much of a mess, or really, any kind of difficult to make a steak dinner for himself and Tom. 

That supposition was quickly dashed once he actually started cooking. Okay, so, maybe Edward was in over his head. He’d tried to be a little more ambitious than his usual meals, because some part of him really, really wanted to impress Tom. At least eighty percent of his what he typically ate was microwaved, especially after long and exhausting days. It was just easier that way: less work, less dishes, quicker results when he was lacking the energy to actually spend time cooking. But, he’d figured, it couldn’t really be _that_ hard to cook steak properly, could it? They always made it look so easy on all of those cooking shows. They’d just throw the steak on the grill, season it, and boom. That was it.

No one had warned him about how quickly steaks could overcook. No one had warned him that you had to actually steam or boil asparagus before just throwing it in a pan, either. And when had mashed potatoes been so hard to get smooth? Maybe he needed to rethink his standards when he wasn’t trying to impress his date; it felt strangely pitiful to be a man in his mid-thirties and to just be realizing how difficult cooking could possibly be. He glanced at the clock - 7:40 - and wrinkled his nose. That was fine. The steak wasn’t horridly overcooked, some people liked it well-done. And as long as he covered the steak, that would give the asparagus a little longer to cook anyway—

That was exactly when the doorbell rang, and he cursed under his breath, reaching for a dish towel to quickly wipe his hands and tossing it onto the counter as he all but ran out of the kitchen to get the door. He spared just a second to draw in a deep breath, in some attempt to compose himself, before he opened the door. There was Tom, looking like something out of a dream, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off a tantalizing bit of skin at his throat and Edward realized too late that he’d been staring and hadn’t actually said anything yet.

“I didn’t realize that our date was going to be spent in the hallway outside of your apartment,” Tom teased, snapping him out of it.

Ed stepped back from the doorway quickly, gesturing for Tom to enter. “No, no, sorry,” he chuckled sheepishly, “It’s just. It’s great to see you again. You, uh…you look great.” He ran a hand through his hair, giving him another quick once-over; the compliment had made Tom blush, and god, was he never going to tire of being the cause of that. “Really great. Thanks for coming.”

The hint of shyness that tinged Tom’s reply was utterly adorable, as he stepped inside and toed his shoes off, tucking his hair back behind his ear in an absentminded gesture. “Thank you, that’s very sweet of you,” he murmured, looking up to meet Ed’s gaze, sharing a warm smile with him. “You look good too…blue is definitely your color.” 

Edward opened his mouth to reply, found that he didn’t have the right words, and that was fine because Tom promptly cut him off, holding up a case of some fancy craft beer that he’d picked up on his way over. “I thought we could go for something a little more casual, and a little less headache-inducing tonight,” he explained.

“Good choice,” Ed agreed, taking it from him so that he could put it in the fridge. “I wasn’t too bad this morning, but I’d rather not repeat it if I don’t have to.” Showing up to work mildly hung over two days in a row would definitely not be a good look, even if it was for a decent reason. “Come in, make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready soon.”

As he retreated to the kitchen, Tom followed, wandering through the living room and humming softly in approval. “You’ve got a nice place,” he commented; it was much bigger than his own, but still felt decently lived-in, which was something that he very much appreciated. It wasn’t lifeless and cold, like most high-end apartments belonging to single businessmen tended to be. He’d spent the night with one guy whose furniture had looked like it was fresh out of a catalog and entirely unused, and there had been something decidedly unsettling about the entire thing. This was much cozier; he was already imagining curling up on the couch together once dinner was through. And speaking of dinner… “Whatever you’re making smells delicious. Thank you for inviting me over for dinner. And for cooking. You didn’t have to go out of your way like that.” 

Tom came to stand in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame, with his arms folded across his chest, as he watched Ed fuss over their dinner. It was so delightfully domestic, and he found himself grateful for the invitation to eat here, in private, rather than out at some crowded restaurant where they would have had to talk over the rest of the room to be heard. The added bonus of getting to see Edward moving around the kitchen, shirtsleeves rolled up to show off strong forearms, a little curl of his hair slipping free from its neat combing and the shirt stretching across his broad shoulders as he leaned down to grab something out of one of the lower cupboards…every little detail made it worth their mutual decision to stay in.

He’d been at least partially teasing the night prior, about the kiss, but for the majority of the day, it was forefront in his mind. Now, he was completely convinced that he was going to make good on that promise once they were done eating - and only once they were done eating, because his thoughts were going somewhere much less chaste than a single kiss, and it would be rude to forget about the meal that Edward had so lovingly prepared. 

“I, uh. Might have overcooked the steak.” Edward’s voice broke through his thoughts, as he set out two plates and started to put their meals together. “I hope you don’t mind well-done. I’ll…have to practice getting the temperature right for next time.” 

Crossing the room, Tom let his hand brush briefly across Edward’s back as he headed for the fridge, to grab their drinks. “Don’t even worry about it. I’m not a picky eater, and I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” he reassured him, setting two bottles of beer on the counter and nudging the fridge closed behind him. “Where do you keep your bottle opener?”

Ed paused to dig around in a drawer next to him, then held out the bottle opener in Tom’s direction. Their hands brushed together, lingered there briefly, and if Tom’s “Thank you” was a little more breathless than he’d intended it to be as he turned around to pry the caps off of the bottles? Ed wasn’t going to mention it. That would be impolite, after all. He focused instead on plating the food. It wasn’t quite restaurant quality but it did look tasty at least, and the reassurance had gone a long way in comforting any worries that he’d had about whether or not Tom was going to appreciate the dinner that he’d made. He didn’t seem the type to complain anyway, but that still didn’t mean that Ed wanted to make him suffer through a terrible meal while gritting his teeth and pretending to enjoy it.

“Oh wow. You really went all-out,” Tom commented, from somewhere behind him, having retreated to the little dining area off to the side. “The candles really give it a nice touch. I didn’t realize you’d be such a romantic.” He wasn’t teasing, either; the table was set with Edward’s nicest silverware, a couple of candles illuminating the otherwise dimmed space, the only tablecloth that he owned laid out to make it that much fancier. 

How was it that everything that Tom said left him feeling so flustered? Ed wasn’t even sure how to answer at first, too caught up in the fact that Tom thought that he was being romantic for such a small gesture. Really, he’d just wanted it to be nice. A boring dinner at his tiny dining room table had been lacking something, and so he’d put in the bare effort to make it nicer. His ex wouldn’t have even bothered to comment on it…perhaps that was why he found it so endearing that Tom was standing there looking like a few candles were equivalent to a night at some high-end restaurant somewhere. 

“It’s not much, but I’m glad you like it,” he finally managed, as he carried their plates over and set one down at each place. “Here. Lemme get your chair for you.” 

The giggle that he received as a result was entirely worth the cheesiness; even more so, it gave him a chance to lean in a little closer, to catch a little whiff of something subtle but pleasant - Tom’s cologne, maybe, or the shampoo that he’d used earlier? The temptation to press a kiss to the long, pale column of his neck was almost overwhelming, but he’d promised himself that he would be patient and not overstep any boundaries. And so, he retreated to his own end of the table, lifting the bottle that had been left at his seat with a smile.

“To the cook,” Tom said, his smile shining in his eyes as he reached across the table, briefly clinking their bottles together before taking a sip. “Thank you again for dinner. I feel positively spoiled.”

“Don’t say that until you’ve tasted it,” Ed murmured dryly in reply, though it was really only half-joking.

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad…” Tom reached for his utensils, slicing off a little piece of the steak, making a show out of taking that first bite, with a comically pensive look on his face as he chewed it. His eyes went wide then, and a hand shot to his throat, and Ed’s heart just about stopped. He was already in the process of getting up, his mind already a chorus of _Oh no, oh fuck—_ , until Tom swallowed and let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Just kidding! I’m just kidding, sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out…” He reached across the table, still laughing softly, to rest a hand over Ed’s own. “It’s delicious. It really is.”

Ed stared across the table in mild disbelief for a second, then let out breathy laugh, turning his hand palm-upward to catch Tom’s hand in his own for a minute to squeeze it. “Christ, I thought you were choking,” he sighed, willing his heart to slow its pounding with his other hand pressed to his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.” 

Tom, meanwhile, had not stopped laughing. There were tears in his eyes as he squeezed Ed’s hand back. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to genuinely scare you, I only wanted to tease…” His thumb brushed across Edward’s knuckles briefly before he pulled away, to wipe the tears from his eyes and take a good gulp of beer. “Note made. No teasing Edward at the dinner table. Got it.” 

“You’re a brat,” Ed shot back at him, though it was good-natured. “I’m glad you don’t think that my food is terrible though. Something to be thankful for I guess.” Under the table, he’d let his foot rest against Tom’s again, in a mirror of the previous night’s date. The contact remained as they both tucked into their meal. Sure enough, Tom wasn’t entirely lying. The steak was a little bit overcooked but not unbearable, and though he’d made some mistakes with the side dishes, they had come out decently in the end. It was a good meal, and as the past two days had shown, conversation was comfortable between them. Tom listened intently as Ed talked about his day at the office, about his meeting, and his conversation with Irving - Tom had been particularly delighted by that, knowing that Ed’s friends supported him so wholeheartedly, even if this was just their second date.

“Here, let me clear the table at least,” Tom insisted, once they’d finished the last few bites of food. “I’ll grab us another drink while I’m up.” Before Edward could protest, he was already getting to his feet, holding up a hand to stop him. “ You worked so hard making this meal for me, it’s the least I can do.” 

And so, Ed was left sitting at the table, watching in delight as this handsome, sweet man gathered up their dishes and padded across the floor and into the kitchen, already making himself at home. Normally, that would have felt terribly uncomfortable for him, as he’d gotten very used to having his own space and not having anyone in it. There was just something about how Tom was behaving - comfortable, without being intrusive about it - that was terribly appealing to him. The dishes were quickly rinsed and shoved into the dishwasher, and, as promised, he turned to the fridge to grab drinks.

“Hey,” Ed called over to him, turning slightly and resting an arm over the back of his chair. “There’s a little pink box on the counter. Would you grab that and bring it here?”

“Sure. This one?” 

“That’s the one.”

Tom returned to the table with both bottles clutched in one hand and the pastry box in the other. Ed reached up to take the drinks, then nodded toward the living room. “Figured we could watch a movie while we’re enjoying our dessert. What do you think?”

“Dessert and a movie? That sounds wonderful,” Tom replied easily, following him into the living room, where they both settled on the couch, with a polite few inches between them, the pastry box set on the coffee table along with their drinks. “As long as you’re not angling for that awful ‘Netflix and chill’ nonsense.”

Edward’s eyes went wide, and he froze where he was reaching for the remote, a protest already pushing itself from his mouth because he didn’t want to seem like that kind of guy, didn’t want Tom to feel _pressured_ or anything (not that he’d refuse if that offer was ever made because he would have to be blind to not find Tom absolutely, stunningly attractive) but he wasn’t expecting it either. “No, no, I just…I thought it would be nice—”

“Oh good,” Tom sighed, a grin spreading across his handsome face. “Because I’d hate for sex to be ruined by some god-awful movie blaring in the background. I do have standards.”

Ed snorted, feeling his face heat up at the sudden change in tone of their conversation. It was exciting, to be flirted with so unashamedly. It had been a very, very long time, even longer since he’d allowed himself to flirt back with that same enthusiasm. It was near impossible not to feel a lingering sense of anxiousness at the reply that was forefront in his mind, the way that his mouth had gone dry with the onslaught of mental images that Tom had just so willingly provided him with. “We could, uh…skip the Netflix part, if—if that’s what you’ve got in mind.” 

He could’ve sworn that Tom’s eyes had darkened then, that charming grin morphing into something a little more sensual, and god, did Ed want to lean in, close the distance between them and kiss him breathless, drag him to the bedroom, lay him out and take his sweet time in exploring every inch of pale skin that was so well-hidden under his clothes—

“My, I haven’t even offered you a kiss yet, and you’re already propositioning me,” Tom breathed, though there was no real offense to it; quite the opposite, in fact. His tongue had darted out to wet his lips, and Ed’s eyes were drawn to that flash of pink. He swallowed hard, face burning as he watched with rapt attention as Tom eased in closer, teeth catching his lower lip as he seemed to spend a moment weighing his options. “Mm. Well. Dinner _was_ delicious, and you’ve been such a gentleman…” That grin made a reappearance then, and it set a heat burning low in Ed’s belly, one that was only further set aflame when a warm hand settled on his thigh. “Would you like to kiss me, Edward?”

Before he could stop himself, Ed was nodding eagerly, breathing out an almost pathetic, “ _Yes_ , please…” He barely had enough time to mentally chastise himself before Tom was closing the distance between them, pretty eyes flickering down toward his lips.

“Then _kiss me_ already.”

Edward didn’t need to be told twice. His hand slid around the back of Tom’s neck, fingers pushing into the short, neatly-trimmed hair at the nape of his neck - _so soft_ \- and drawing him in closer, their lips finally pressing together. For all that first kisses tended to be tentative, this one was not. Tom kissed with the same cunning eagerness with which he flirted, turning to cup a hand against Edward’s cheek, and when Ed eased his lips apart with a curious push of his tongue, Tom opened so beautifully for him, making a pleased little sound that rumbled in his throat. He was so, so lovely. Edward wanted to _devour_ him.

When they pulled apart to breathe, it was only just long enough for Ed to finally find himself with a lap full of Tom, a warm weight pressing him down into the couch, knees on either side of his thighs, and then they were kissing again, and he couldn’t resist pushing his hands up under Tom’s shirt to palm at the soft skin just above the waistline of his jeans. His head was spinning - he couldn’t blame it on the drink, not when Tom was kissing him like he was starving for it, not when he felt like he was starving too. Didn’t matter if they didn’t get any further than kissing because it already felt like heaven, anything else might be too much.

He’d have been content to spend the rest of the night just like that, were it not for Tom breaking the kiss, sliding a hand down over his chest, _Christ_ , Tom’s hips rolling against his own, Tom’s warm breath against his ear. “Meant to have a talk with you before all this,” he chuckled, his voice low and not an ounce of shame to it, “Trying not to get too carried away…” Edward’s hands had wandered down over the perfect fucking curve of Tom’s arse and were squeezing hard, halting his words just long enough for him to stutter out a pretty, needy little sound. “ ‘M clean, I’ve got my latest results if you need them—” 

_Fuck_. The knowledge that Tom had been planning this end result to their date night sent all of Edward’s blood rushing south, and he groaned, pushing his hips up to meet the slow rock of Tom’s own. “I’ve got mine too. Haven’t made much of a habit of bringing anyone home lately but.” But better safe than sorry, better to be ready because his mind was running off with the realization that both of them being recently tested meant that they could forgo condoms altogether, and the sound that Tom made was a clear indication that he’d realized it too. 

All at once, that weight pressing him down was gone, and Edward pushed himself up with the intention to follow but that was quickly quelled at the sight of Tom sliding down between his legs, looking terribly pleased with himself. “Good. Was hoping I’d be able to just go ahead and get my mouth on your cock without needing protection,” he purred, already busy working Edward’s belt open.

Tom’s deft fingers had his pants open more quickly than Edward could process everything that had happened since they’d left the dinner table. The number of protests that his mind managed to conjure up was bordering on obscene - that Tom didn’t have to, that he’d have kissed him for hours and been perfectly satisfied with that, that he wasn’t the type that expected sex just because he’d gone out of his way to make dinner - but all of that was pushed to the back of his mind when a warm, wet mouth closed around the head of his cock and _fuck_ , Tom was _moaning_ around him like this was what he’d been hoping for all along. The look of utter bliss on his face only further affirmed that none of this was out of any sense of obligation, and it was all Edward could do to focus on resisting the urge to thrust up into Tom’s mouth, for fear of hurting him.

“Christ, Tom,” he breathed, head falling back against the couch because if he looked down again, the night was going to be over way too soon. His fingers brushed across Tom’s forehead, found the hair falling forward into his face and held it back, and he was rewarded by the wet slide of Tom’s mouth even further down, head bobbing in slow, deliberate motions to take more and more and more until his nose had brushed into the neat, dark curls at the base of Edward’s dick. “Fuck—”

How had he gotten so lucky? What had he done to deserve this? He wasn’t a religious man but he’d be tempted to pray later, to whatever the fuck god decided to gift him with someone so utterly perfect. When he dared to lift his head, to gaze down at Tom through half-lidded eyes, he was treated to the sight of those soft lips stretched around the girth of him, and the rush was almost too much, almost enough to undo him. His hand fisted in Tom’s hair harder than before, and he gave a soft, warning tug. “Stop. Tom, wait, please—”

With his tongue pressed flat to the underside of Edward’s cock, Tom took his sweet time in withdrawing, his hands squeezing at Edward’s thighs as he gazed up at him. “Is everything alright? I’m not moving too quickly, am I?” 

“God, no,” Edward panted, brushing his thumb across Tom’s cheek, then sliding his hand to cup against the back of his neck, gently drawing him up. Tom pushed himself up to meet him in a kiss, still knelt between his legs. Ed could feel himself flushing, as he muttered against Tom’s mouth, “Just…don’t want it to be over before I can get my hands on you.” 

The low chuckle that rumbled in Tom’s throat in reply sent another shiver down Edward’s spine and he kissed him hard, let Tom pull him - albeit unsteadily - to his feet. “Bedroom’s down the hall,” he murmured, his hands shoving up under the hem of Tom’s shirt to palm greedily over the warm skin along the waistline of his pants. How they got there was mostly a blur of hands and mouths, clothing falling wherever the hell it landed on the way: Tom lost his shirt somewhere near the coffee table, Edward’s belt was in the hall, his own shirt hanging open and off of his shoulders by the time they made it through the doorway. He had a fleeting thought, how he would’ve changed the sheets if he’d had the forethought, but there was no time to think about that when he was busy shoving his hand down the back of Tom’s briefs. 

“Bed. Now,” he grunted, in one brief moment where they’d managed to stop kissing long enough to breathe. He shrugged out of his shirt and for every step Tom took back toward the bed, he followed, until he was crawling onto the mattress atop him. Tom, flushed, panting, his hair mussed, front of his underwear tented through the opening of his fly, made the prettiest fucking sight he’d ever seen. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the flat of his stomach, nipped at one jutting hipbone and was rewarded with a stuttered sigh as his fingers hooked into the last bit of fabric keeping him from that gorgeous body. He regretted having to pull away even just long enough to strip him of his pants and underwear and apologized for it by catching one ankle in his hand, kissing there, and along Tom’s calf and up to his soft, warm thighs that were so invitingly spread, just for him. 

“The nightstand—”

“Got it.” Tom sounded delightfully breathless, and Edward busied himself with perpetuating that, nipping at his thighs, pushing them back and laying flat on his stomach between them to mouth at his cock, flushed a pretty red and straining against hist belly. He heard Tom utter a soft curse above him, and smirked to himself, tonguing at the wetness that he found at the tip, reaching up with one hand only to have a small bottle pressed into his palm. When he dared to look up, he was greeted with the sight of Tom gazing down at him through half-lidded eyes, lips parted, his chest rising and falling with every hard breath that he took. “Edward…fuck…”

“That’s the idea,” Edward chuckled lowly, pressing another warm kiss against Tom’s thigh as he worked the cap open, liberally coated his fingers with it and set the bottle aside. 

Tom snorted, balancing himself on one elbow as he reached down to playfully smack at Ed’s shoulder. He opened his mouth as if he intended to say something, but all that came out was a strangled moan as Edward’s fingers brushed down between his legs, a slick pressure circling his entrance, at the same time as his mouth found the head of Tom’s cock once more. He fell back against the pillows almost immediately, torn between pressing down onto the clever fingers teasing him, or up into the wet heat of Edward’s mouth. 

The decision was made for him, and he whined as Edward worked first one, then two fingers into him, excruciatingly slowly, so terribly gentle. What little discomfort that he felt was so strongly negated by his want, and he was soon left squirming, impatient, as Edward lovingly worked him open. The litany of noises drawn from his parted lips only served to encourage Edward, who curled his fingers upward, aimed to find the perfect spot and was rewarded by a sharp cry, and by the dizzying sensation of Tom clenching around his fingers. 

_Fuck._

If he’d been a less patient man, the temptation to rut down against the sheets might have been enough to give in, enough to push him to a premature end, because combined with all of the lovely moans and cries that Tom was giving him, and the feeling of him, hot and tight and squirming eagerly above him, his self-control was quickly beginning to unravel. Thankfully, despite the squeeze around his fingers, Tom didn’t seem to be in too much discomfort as he carefully added a third; instead, his legs fell open wider, and he pushed himself up to watch once more, those beautiful eyes darkened with want.

“Edward—” he breathed, and the heaviness of the lust in his tone went straight to Ed’s already aching dick; he stifled a moan against Tom’s thigh, before lifting his head to look up at him once more. “Edward please. It’s enough, I-I’m ready…”

There was still some lingering doubt in Edward’s own mind, some quiet worry that he might hurt Tom, but the decision was quickly made for him when a hand reached down and closed around his wrist, stilling his motions. His own need overrode the last of those worries, and he nodded, withdrawing his fingers and kissing at Tom’s thigh once more, before he righted himself, breathing hard in anticipation of what would follow as he reached for the lube. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked, unable to help himself, as Tom’s arm snaked around his shoulders, drew him down to crush their lips together once more. He felt Tom’s hummed affirmative more than he heard it, pressed against his mouth, and as they parted to breathe, he settled comfortably between his legs. Reaching past him, he grabbed one of the pillows and gently nudged at Tom’s hip. “Lift.”

The command was quickly obeyed, and he slid the pillow under his hips to give a little extra leverage. Tom was grinning up at him, looking flushed and wild and altogether too proud of himself. “Such a gentleman,” he smirked, settling back against the pillow with his thighs pulled up toward his torso, and Edward leaned over him to kiss that smirk off of his face as he guided himself to his entrance, teasing, not yet pushing in. 

That was perfectly effective. Tom _whimpered_ into his mouth, trying to push down against him, but his position gave him little leverage to do so. “Edward, you _tease_ …” he panted, teeth catching Ed’s lower lip as he tried to pull away. “Just _fuck_ me already…”

Edward didn’t need to be told twice. He began to push in, excruciatingly slowly, inch by maddening inch. The tight heat that greeted him was infinitely better than what he’d felt around his fingers, knocked the breath from his lungs, and the sight of Tom with his head thrown back once more and his lips parted in a long, needy moan, was almost enough to undo him. He was already strained with the effort of not giving into baser desires and just sliding the rest of the way without a care; when his hips finally did fall flush, his arms were shaking, and he had to take a steadying breath and squeeze his eyes shut, willing himself not to come before he’d even had a chance to make Tom feel good.

Beneath him, Tom was trembling lightly, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took as he willed himself to relax. Eager or not, it took a long moment before the stretch and burn began to subside. He slowly looked up, reached out to trail his fingers through Edward’s hair, scratched his dull nails against his scalp to draw his attention. When Edward finally opened his eyes, they shared a shaky smile. “I’m alright, I promise,” Tom murmured, bringing his hand around to brush against Edward’s cheek, and then to rest at his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Please. I _need_ you.”

Edward nodded, his hands sliding up over Tom’s hips to grasp at his thighs, slowly withdrawing, all the way to the tip and then sinking back in, delighted by the sound of Tom’s breathing stuttering in response. He set a languid pace at first, as they adjusted to their shared rhythm, but soon, with Tom practically writhing beneath him, begging for more, there was little Edward could do to resist. 

For how he’d hoped to draw it out, it wasn’t long before Ed’s thrusts were becoming uneven, urgent, spurred on by Tom’s pretty cries. The neighbors would be pissed, but he couldn’t find a reason to care. Faltering when Tom squeezed around him following a particularly well-angled thrust, he released one of his legs, instead moving to curl his fingers around Tom’s pretty, flushed cock. The sob that was drawn from Tom’s mouth sent a rush of heat through him, and he knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Fuck, Tom, do you have…any idea…how fucking incredible you look?” he panted out, stroking him in time with his thrusts and watching, stunned, as Tom arched beneath him, torn between rocking down to meet the hard pace that he’d set, or up into the palm slicked with his own fluids, tight and warm around him. He was flushed, equally from pleasure and from praise and from exertion, and Edward had to lean down and kiss along his cheeks, down the pale column of his throat, latching on to the jut of his collarbone and greedily sucking at the skin there. The sweet whimper that he was treated to only edged him closer to his release, and he was desperate to kiss Tom again in that instant, couldn’t stop himself even if he’d wanted to.

It was the sound of his name, cried out so sweetly against his lips when he stole another kiss, that finally sent him over. His hips stuttered in their motion, and he pushed in deep as he came, groaning into Tom’s mouth. He could feel Tom clenching around him, exquisitely hot and tight as he spilled across his own stomach with a desperate sob. “Christ…” he gasped, as they were forced to pull apart to catch their breath, giving one last slow roll of his hips, a lopsided grin spreading across his face when Tom twitched beneath him, undoubtedly oversensitive in the aftermath. “Can’t remember the last time I felt so good…” 

Slowly, Tom looked up at him, still breathing hard. His hair was damp with sweat, and Edward used his clean hand to brush it back from his face, delighting in the lazy smile that he got in return. “Neither can I. Don’t let that go to your head but—” his breath caught in his throat as Edward withdrew, flopping down next to him on the bed and pulling him into his arms. Tom nuzzled into his chest. “You’re fantastic. Probably the best I’ve had since…” He snorted. “Well. Since I came out, I’d imagine.” 

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head, but that’s one hell of a compliment,” Edward teased, pressing a kiss to Tom’s messy hair. Beyond a little chuckle, they both trailed off into comfortable silence, basking in the deeply satisfying afterglow.

It was a long few minutes of simply listening to each other breathe before either of them dared to speak up again, and Tom was the first to even start to move from their comfortable position entwined together and half-wrapped in sheets that their feet had gotten tangled in. “I should get cleaned up,” he murmured, shifting just slightly, to lean up and press a kiss to Edward’s cheek. “I’d stay here all night if I could, but I’ve got an early shoot tomorrow and all of my equipment is back home…” The regret was plain in his voice. If only he’d thought ahead, he would have gladly spent the remainder of the night curled up in Edward’s arms, content to be boneless and messy until the sun came up and they both had to get ready for work. “I’ll have to plan better next time, I guess.” He pushed himself up, kissing the tip of Edward’s nose as he disentangled himself and headed for the connected bathroom.

Edward was left alone in the rapidly cooling bed, trying not to grimace at how sticky and sweaty he’d become. He’d have to take a shower once Tom was headed home. And, if he was being entirely honest with himself, he was kind of glad that they weren’t spending the rest of the night together, as much as Tom was an actual angel. There was something weird about sharing a bed with anyone now, a lingering feeling left over from memories of the last time his ex had been curled up next to him in the early hours of the morning. It was probably the reason why he had a nasty track record of kicking his one-night-stands out before they could fall asleep, or better yet, making sure that they never made it as far as the bed at all.

Tom just seemed to be the exception to so many rules already. It was unsettling at best. But when he returned, still flushed in the cheeks and sporting a nice bruise along his collarbone where Edward had sunk his teeth into without even meaning to, some of those lingering worries were quelled. He’d have to bring it up sometime, explain the boundaries that he had - even if they weren’t meant to be permanent. Right now just didn’t feel like the right time.

Pushing himself up from the bed, he stretched and groaned, handing over Tom’s underwear, which had been tossed to the far side of the bed in their haste. “Might need these,” he chuckled, taking a step closer so that he could reach out with his other hand, brush a thumb over the darkening skin at Tom’s collar. “Sorry about that. I guess I got a little carried away.”

“Oh, definitely don’t apologize for leaving marks,” Tom replied easily, as if they were talking about something spilled at the dinner table rather than a nice, dark hickey that could very well be visible if he wore a shirt that was too low-cut. “I like it. It’ll be a nice reminder of you when I wake up tomorrow morning.”

Despite having just gotten off, that little tidbit had Edward biting back a groan. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I suppose you could call it a surprise.” Tom was bent over, trying to get into his jeans without falling over entirely. “Most people just don’t expect it of me. I’ve been told it’s my _boyish charm_. No one suspects the polite one of also being the kinky one.” 

Edward cleared his throat, his hand dropping to Tom’s waist briefly, shaking his head. “You really are something. Can’t say I wouldn’t be interested in getting to know the kinky side of you though. Not after tonight.”

Tom’s grin only widened, as he righted himself and tugged his shirt on, making quick work of the buttons. “Well, you should let me take you out tomorrow night then. Maybe we can see what sort of trouble we could get up to. There’s a gay bar downtown that’ll be open, and I think I’d like to show you off.” 

“Show me off?” Edward scoffed, as if the very idea of it was utterly ridiculous. “If anything, I’ll be the one showing you off.” 

“Then we’ll show each other off.” Tom stepped in closer, arms sliding around Edward’s bare shoulders to draw him in for a slow kiss, and any protests that Edward had quickly died in his throat. When they parted, they were both breathless. “Sorry I can’t stay.” 

“It’s fine. Let me…figure out where I threw my pants, and I’ll walk you to the door.” 

They lingered too long by the front door. Tom really, truly didn’t want to leave, and he held onto Edward’s hand until the moment they finally said their goodnights. Edward had agreed to go out the next night, and while the club scene wasn’t really his thing, he figured he could tolerate it for a little while if it meant getting to see Tom again. He waited in the doorway until the elevator came, and Tom waved from the other end of the hall, blowing him a kiss before disappearing out of sight.

He showered and briefly considered forgoing changing the sheets, but eventually, despite how tired he felt, decided that he didn’t really want to sleep on dirty sheets after he’d cleaned himself up. As he was stripping the bed, he caught a lingering whiff of Tom’s cologne, and the weird twisting feeling in his stomach was back again. He should’ve pulled it together and just asked him to stay, offered to make him breakfast in the morning. But that had felt like too much too soon, that lingering discomfort still in the back of his mind at the very thought of having someone - even someone as wonderful as Tom - making a place in his life again.

Sighing, he made quick work of getting clean sheets on the bed and then crawled under his comforter, making sure his alarm was set for the morning. There was a message waiting for him that made him smile despite the plethora of feelings that Edward was trying very, very hard not to feel.

Tom -   
I’m home safe. Thanks for a great night, Edward. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.

Ed -   
I am too. It’s been a while since I’ve been out clubbing. Promise you won’t laugh at my dancing.

Tom -   
Promise. As long as you don’t laugh at mine. 

Tom -   
Passing out now. Sweet dreams.

Ed -   
Goodnight, Tom. 


	4. Thursday

_Thursday._

“So, do you have any intention of telling Francis that you’re dating his nephew?”

Edward’s stomach dropped as he lifted his head to look across the desk at Mister Fitzjames, who was leaning back in his oversized office chair, regarding him over a stack of folders that needed tending to. He’d just about forgotten everything that was in every single one of those folders in an instant. Not a single escape route came to mind in that moment, not a single useful thing that he could use to get out of this particular conversation. He couldn’t very well deny it, as it was clear that he’d been found out, though how still remained to be seen. He also couldn’t just throw himself out of the office window like his very unhelpful mind was screaming at him to do immediately. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, closed it again. 

Fitzjames was the kind of boss that people loved to work for. Married to Crozier for the better part of a decade now, he’d once owned a rival magazine, which he’d opted to merge with his husband’s company, some eight years prior. He was a tall and beautiful man, always impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. For how visually striking he was, he was also incredibly competent, a talented writer, with organizational skills that not a single other person in the office could ever wish to match. Despite his efficiency and occasionally ruthless business nature, he was a very likable man, with many stories to share of the years that he spent traveling the world. He was also, apparently, very observant, something that Edward had always admired about him, but something that he definitely was not expecting to be hit with in such a personal way.

“You left your phone on the desk when you left the room earlier,” Fitzjames continued on. “I didn’t mean to snoop, but you received a number of text messages while you were away and I was concerned that it might be something important. Someone named Tom seems very interested in your outing tonight. Dundy had mentioned that you’d met someone on Monday, and while he didn’t go into any sort of detail, it wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.”

“We’re not dating,” Edward blurted, then immediately wished that he could have said literally anything else, because the way that Fitzjames was looking at him made it clear that he didn’t buy that excuse for even a second. “We went out for drinks, and then I made him dinner at my place, and—” God. He was just digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole that he had absolutely no hope of ever climbing out of. “We’ve been going out places. But it’s not…”

“It isn’t official yet,” Fitzjames helpfully supplied, and while he sounded intrigued, at least he didn’t sound like he was upset about it at all. Tom was technically his family too, even if it was only through marriage. “Is he aware that you’re just _going out places_ and not actually dating?”

Edward grit his teeth. He really hadn’t intended on talking about this with anyone, nevermind with a man who was not only his boss, but was related to the guy he was seeing. It was like the awkward first family dinner, minus the food. And…minus the potentially much more upset actual uncle. “Seems like it,” he said, trying to play it off as if it wasn’t something that he was actively stressing over. He wasn’t ready for commitment, regardless of how much he liked being around Tom. “We haven’t talked about it being a relationship. We’re just…getting to know each other.” 

Fitzjames hummed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk, fingers interlocked before him as he studied Edward, who suddenly felt an awful lot like he was under scrutiny for the choices he’d made that week. He’d had the owner’s nephew in his bed last night - and, admittedly, was hoping to have him in his bed again before the night was through, neither of which were particularly good choices to be made given his position at the company. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the door, as if some convenient distraction might just appear and end the incredibly uncomfortable conversation he was being put through.

“Well. It isn’t my place to say anything,” Fitzjames finally conceded. “But I would suggest that you speak with Francis on the matter before either of you decides to make more of it than this. I doubt he will have any real issue with it, at least at a personal level.” He fixed Edward with a knowing look. Francis was a very exacting boss, and was known for setting high expectations, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t appreciate his employees and give credit where it was due. “For how tough he might be on you sometimes, I’m sure you know that he thinks very highly of you. I would be more concerned about professional conflict, if anything, but if you can remain neutral, I don’t see why you couldn’t continue on seeing him.” 

Edward released a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Not that Fitzjames’s apparent approval did an awful lot to lessen the other, more pressing issue that had been brought up by the conversation. He hadn’t thought much into what Tom was expecting from all of this when they’d started going out on these dates. He wasn’t a heartbreaker, nor was he the sort to let things go on for too long in hopes that they’d just work themselves out. Fitzjames’s concern made that matter forefront in his mind. He needed to talk to Tom about what he was looking for in the long-term, because if he was hoping for something serious…

Well. Edward had some issues that needed tending before he was ready to welcome someone else back into his life in such a serious way. The thought of bringing that up to kind, adoring Tom made his stomach turn. 

He nodded, curtly, idly fidgeting with the hem on his pants because there was nothing else to do with his hands. “I’ll talk to him, if it gets any more serious,” he promised, in a quiet tone. They were adults, after all. He wasn’t even considering just sneaking around and hoping that Crozier never found out. Right now was just not the time, not with his own interest in the relationship still up in the air. Clearing his throat, he reached for the folder at the top of the pile, hoping that just getting back to work might change the topic, though he did add, “Thank you. For…your discretion. I appreciate it.”

“Just be good to Thomas,” Fitzjames sighed, sitting back in his seat and turning his attention back to his computer screen. “He’s a sweet lad. He deserves to be cherished.”

He most certainly did. And that was exactly what terrified Edward. If he couldn’t sort out his own issues, how could he ever begin to properly treasure a man who truly deserved the world?

___

  
_Unity_ already had a line extending from its grand double doors by nine. For a Thursday night, that was particularly impressive. Then again, Edward had heard a number of people talking about cheap drinks, and that explained just about everything. The crowd was not much different from his own clubbing days - admittedly, that was a near decade ago now. Someone in his position didn’t really have time to go out partying on the regular, though this week spent with Tom certainly was making a liar out of him on that front. 

Edward was waiting out of the line, hands shoved deep into the pockets of the jeans he’d opted to wear that night. Thankfully, the club didn’t have much of a dress code; after a particularly exhausting day at work, at least partially because of the conversation that had been sprung on him, he hadn’t had much energy to go to the lengths of fully dressing up. His thoughts were still filled with things that he absolutely did not want to be thinking about, especially not when Tom would be arriving any minute. He really, truly wanted to enjoy the night, without spending the entirety of it caught up in whether this was a fling or a legitimate relationship in the making. What he really needed was a nice, strong drink to kick the evening off.

He was so wound up in overthinking absolutely everything that he didn’t notice Tom approaching him, and jumped when a pair of arms encircled his waist from behind, until his mind caught up with him and realized exactly who was pressing up against him. He turned his head to see Tom’s grinning face, his chin resting on Edward’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Tom murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to Edward’s cheek, the little gesture pushing all of those confusing thoughts away. They could be dealt with later.

“Hey yourself,” Edward mumbled back, turning in Tom’s arms to pull him into a proper kiss. He was rewarded with a pleased little sound, Tom’s arms draping comfortably around his shoulders. As if it was the most effortless thing, Tom looked as gorgeous as he always did, a little bit of eyeliner only further bringing out the stunningly vivid color of his eyes. He was wearing a shirt that hugged his trim waist in just the right way, his jeans low-slung, making it altogether too easy for Ed to slip his fingers under the shirt and tease along his hipbones. He felt Tom shiver under his touch, pulled back from the kiss to eye the bruise that was peeking out from the dipping neckline of his shirt. “That came out a pretty color. I hope you didn’t go to work this morning with that showing.”

“Nah. Tempting as it was to spend my day fielding inappropriate questions about who I went home with last night, I figured it was probably more professional to wear a proper button-up and tie to photograph an engagement.” With that cheeky grin on his face, Tom pulled back, reaching down and entwining their fingers. “Come on. Let’s get inside before it gets too crowded. I wanna buy you a drink.” 

Inside, the music was already going, put on by an enthusiastic DJ, bass thrumming through the floor as they made their way past coat check and to the nearest bar top. No one was dancing quite yet, busy instead with drinking and yelling over the music to be heard. That was fine with Edward. He wasn’t much of a dancer anyway. 

The man behind the bar approached them a minute later, and Tom leaned over the countertop to speak with him, making a gesture in Edward’s direction briefly, as the bartender nodded. In just a minute, two drinks were slid across to them, and Tom paid for them, pressing one of the glasses - containing some amber liquid - into his hand. Almost immediately after, Tom leaned in closer to speak directly next to his ear. He smelled good. Edward desperately wanted to bury his face in Tom’s neck and leave a whole slew of other lovebites for him to admire.

“You never said what you preferred, but you strike me as a whiskey man when you’re not wooing me with wine,” Tom said. He was right too. Whiskey was always Edward’s choice when it came to heavier drinks. There was something to be said about the burn that it caused on the way down, and how it didn’t take too much of it to make his head spin. It was definitely a good choice for tonight. Another glass or two and he wouldn’t be thinking about anything but how good Tom looked in that shirt - and how much better he’d look once he took it off.

Leaning back against the bar, Tom lifted his glass to take a sip of whatever it was that he was drinking - some vivid blue cocktail that smelled equal parts sweet and deadly and came in a full pint glass. His throat bobbed as he drank, and Edward swallowed hard, nursing his own drink and trying to ignore the very pressing want to have his hands all over Tom again. Curiosity did get the better of him, however, and he nodded toward the obscenely blue concoction. “What’s in that anyway?”

Tom smirked, holding the glass out for Edward to taste. He leaned in and sipped from it, nose scrunching up at the immediate assault of flavor - definitely strong, but also sugary sweet enough that the worst of the alcoholic taste was masked by it. “It’s called an, ‘Adios, Mother Fucker’, as in, drink one too many of these and you’re going to be _gone_ ,” Tom told him, taking the glass back and taking a good gulp of it. “It’s a mix of at least five different kinds of liquor, some sweet and sour and sprite. It was my go-to back in college, on nights when I just wanted to get messed up and not think about my awful career choices.” 

It was hard to imagine Tom back then, not yet out, not yet living the life that he wanted to live. Edward briefly wondered if he’d looked different then, less vibrant and full of life the way that he was now. It only further affirmed what he’d said when they’d first talked about career choices, that he was glad that Tom had found his way to what truly made him happy. But what if Edward couldn’t bring himself to be a part of that?

He took a few deep gulps of his own drink and set the now-empty glass on the counter, waving the bartender over to order another. Beside him, Tom was smirking. “Glad we’re both thinking the same thing,” he said, shifting a little closer so that his thigh was brushing against Edward’s own. They definitely were not thinking the same thing, not at that moment, but Edward was going to be damned if he was going to let his melancholy get the better of him when he had a gorgeous man wanting to get completely wasted with him. The hangover would be worth not thinking for a little while.

Tom finished his own drink shortly after - impressive, given how much of it there was - and he ordered them a round of shots as the club started to fill up around them. By the time that they were through with those, Edward could already feel himself starting to get mildly light-headed, so when Tom grabbed his hand and dragged him out toward the rapidly-filling dancefloor, he didn’t even try to protest. The bass was thudding now, and around them, all sorts of men were wrapped up in each other, moving to the music. Tom pulled him right into the center of it, guided Edward’s hands to his waist, and then drew him in closer, to murmur into his ear:

“I know you said you weren’t much of a dancer, but this kind of dancing is easy. Just follow my lead.” 

As if Edward could argue. As if any part of him wouldn’t follow this gorgeous, playful, wonderful man wherever he wanted to go. The minute that Tom turned in his arms, he immediately pulled him in close, leaning in to nose into the neatly trimmed hair at the nape of his neck, and he _felt_ Tom shiver against him. This was fine. He could do this. He could kiss at Tom’s neck and hold him close and breathe him in and he was absolutely, perfectly fine with that—

And then Tom started to _move_.

It was subtle at first, a slow sway from side to side, in time with the rhythm of the music that was blaring out over the crowd, almost deafeningly loud. But as he loosened up, the little back-and-forth motion evolved into something infinitely more pleasing, a roll of his hips that had him intentionally rubbing back against Edward on every beat, and Edward was helpless to do much else but to hold onto his thin waist and admire the utterly tantalizing show that was being put on for him. By the time the music transitioned into the next song, Tom was shamelessly grinding back against him. _Fuck_. 

Edward’s hands wandered forward, one stopping to hook a thumb against his belt buckle, hand splayed out and dangerously close to dipping lower. Only the thought that they were surrounded by so many people was really, truly stopping him. If they’d had somewhere quiet to go, somewhere away from everyone else, he’d have had less qualms. His other hand trailed up over Tom’s stomach and up to his chest, palm pressed flat over his pounding heart. Tom gasped, the sound of it lost in the pounding rhythm, and he threw his head back to rest against Edward’s shoulder. That long, lovely throat bared to him, Edward could not have possibly resisted the urge to crane forward, to nip at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, then again, just below his ear. 

“God, Edward…” he heard Tom moan - _felt_ it more than anything, the rumbling of his voice as Edward dared to let his hand slide higher, to lightly squeeze at Tom’s throat. Light-headed and suddenly so fucking aroused that he could barely think, whatever inhibitions had kept him so uptight were dropping away faster than he could even realize. He’d started to move too, grinding shamelessly against Tom’s pert arse as they moved along with the music, surrounded by heat, by bodies, by other beautiful couples who were just as filthy and compromised as he felt in that moment and it was so easy, so very easy to lose himself to that feeling. The fingers that had been wrapped around Tom’s beautiful neck slid down over his chest once more, pinched at one nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he felt Tom tremble hard against him.

“So fucking pretty…” he growled, head turned to speak the words directly against his ear, “You did this on purpose didn’t you? You brought me here to show me what a filthy thing you can be…”

Tom didn’t hesitate. He was immediately nodding, utterly shameless about the pretenses under which he’d brought Edward to this club, and how could Ed feel angry in the least? He couldn’t, not with a couple of strong drinks in him, not with Tom grinding on his dick in the middle of the dancefloor, not when Tom turned his head and fixed him with a look that was all heat and desire and suddenly, Edward’s knees were weak.

“Wanted to see how far you’d go,” Tom admitted, breathlessly, reaching down to entwine their fingers, to guide the hand that was still clasped against his belt buckle lower, over the front of his jeans, where he was already straining against the front of them.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ed swore, turning his head to nip at Tom’s jaw, thumbing over the outline of his cock through his pants. “You’re kidding. Right here?”

Tom’s wicked grin knocked the air from his lungs, as he pulled away suddenly, reaching for Edward’s hand. 

“Come with me.”

Edward felt like he was floating as he was dragged through the crowd. He’d forgotten what a crowded club felt like, though he wasn’t sure he’d ever really danced with anyone like _that_. It was a heady feeling, one he couldn’t shake himself from as Tom led him around the far side of the bar and through a narrow hallway with a determination that he might have been able to stop to admire if all of the blood from his head hadn’t rushed down to his dick. At the end of the hall, Tom pulled him through a doorway into the - thankfully decently clean and mostly deserted - men’s room, and into one of the stalls. He pushed the door closed behind them and locked it and in an instant, Edward found himself crowded up against the door, being kissed so hard that he almost forgot how to breathe.

Tom’s skin was hot and damp from dancing when Edward’s hands shoved greedily under the hem of his shirt, rucked it up to grasp at his hips, bare where his jeans had slid down to rest tantalizingly low. Tom was kissing him near-frantically, seemingly torn between trying to get his belt undone and rubbing him through his trousers. It was almost shocking to think that this was what he’d been planning all along. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d mentioned being kinky the night before. 

It was as he was moving to get Tom’s pants undone too that he noticed something in the front pocket of his jeans that he hadn’t before. “What—” He reached in and dug it out, then pressed a hand to Tom’s shoulder to break their kiss just long enough to give him an absolutely incredulous stare. In his hand were clutched two packets of lube. He really _had_ thought ahead. “I don’t know whether I should be laughing or impressed.”

“You should be helping me get our pants down so you can fuck me,” Tom said, as matter-of-factly as if he was discussing what they should have for dinner, and Edward groaned, shoving the packets into his own pocket and using both hands to squeeze his arse through his jeans, to pull him into another heated, messy kiss. Tom’s hands were immediately on him again, popping open the button on the front of his trousers and tugging the zip down, shoving greedily into his boxers to wrap long fingers around the girth of his cock. Edward groaned, his head falling back against the door with a soft thud as his hips bucked involuntarily into the sensation. Tom was going to be the death of him.

“Been thinking of this all day,” Tom was saying, just loud enough to be heard over the music that was still booming just outside. “I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it, some guys are weird about potentially getting caught but—” He bit his lip, releasing Edward just long enough to get his own pants open. In a heartbeat, Edward had grasped him by the hips, turned him around, and shoved him forward so that his arms were braced against the opposite wall. He grabbed the waistband of Tom’s jeans, tugged them down until they were resting just above his knees, and his mouth immediately fell open at the sight that was waiting for him.

“You…” 

Tom turned his head, his hair mussed and his cheeks pretty and flushed. He looked like something straight out of one of Edward’s filthiest dreams. He wasn’t wearing anything under his jeans at all. “Easy access,” he offered, with a nonchalant shrug, as best as he could in that position. “There’s…more.” 

“More?” Edward could hardly believe what he was seeing, nor what he was hearing, and his mind took a minute to catch up with what Tom was implying. Sliding a finger down between his cheeks, Edward bit his lip and groaned out loud, to find Tom already semi-slick with lube. At the first press of his finger, Tom groaned, spreading his legs as wide as the pants gathered around his knees would allow him. “Christ, Tom…”

“Figured you’d want to make it quick,” he breathed, his head falling forward, as Edward fumbled in his pocket with his other hand to grab one of the packets, tearing it open with his teeth. “I knew I wasn’t going to want to have to wait. You’re just— oh, _fuck_ …”

He didn’t get a chance to finish what he’d been trying to say. Edward had wasted no time in slicking his fingers, greedily pressing two of them inside up to the second knuckle. Despite how he’d evidently spent some time earlier opening himself up, Tom was still deliciously hot and tight inside, squeezing hard around his fingers as he worked them in and out, angling them to brush right over that spot that had made Tom cry out so prettily the night prior. He found it easily, watching, enraptured, at the way that Tom pushed back to meet the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. 

“Oh—Edward…” he whined, looking back over his shoulder once more, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “Please. Don’t make me beg for it…”

As if Edward could have possibly withstood any sort of begging. All that he needed to do was ask and he would be given anything he wanted, absolutely anything. He roughly shoved his own pants and boxers down, squeezing the last of the lube out into his palm and wrapping his fingers around his cock, slicking himself with a few slow strokes, watching the way that Tom arched his back in further invitation. 

“Sexy as hell,” he growled, stepping in to close the distance between them, one hand curling around Tom’s hip, the other guiding himself in. As he began to push forward, all of the air was knocked from his lungs — almost immediately, Tom had pushed back, fully seating himself on Edward’s cock in one greedy motion. Ed groaned, bracing himself against the wall with one arm at the sudden wave of pleasure that made his knees weak beneath him. “Fuck, Tom, you need to warn me.”

Tom was breathing hard, his words punctuated with it as he shot a shaky smirk back over his shoulder. “S-sorry. I couldn’t resist,” he panted, brows knit; it had almost been too much too quickly, and he needed a second to adjust, “I’ve just…I’ve been thinking about this since I woke up, thinking about how _good_ you felt last night—”

There were footsteps just outside of the stall, some raucous laughter from two guys who had just stumbled in, and Edward froze, turning his head toward the sound. Shit. Of course someone would walk in right now, right when he was balls deep in this beautiful, shameless fucking man — and shameless was absolutely the word for it, because they needed to be quiet, they needed to not get caught, and Tom was _squirming_ back against him. God damn it.

Reaching forward, he grasped Tom’s shoulder, squeezing hard in what he hoped would be enough to get his attention, to get him to stop moving for a minute. But where he’d hoped for a reprieve, he was instead given an impish smirk, and Tom slowly eased himself forward, then back onto his cock again, and Edward had to cover his mouth to stifle the sound that it forced out of his throat. 

Thankfully, it was quiet enough under the rumble of the music out in the main room that the men didn’t seem to take notice. Edward didn’t uncover his mouth until their footsteps were gone, and he glared down at Tom. “You could’ve gotten us caught,” he hissed, though there was no real venom to it. His heart was pounding, but even through his still heavily tipsy haze he was aware that the exhilaration had felt good in a way that he hadn’t anticipated. Maybe that was it. Maybe Tom got off on the idea of almost getting caught fucking in a bathroom stall in some crowded club.

Tom gave another lewd roll of his hips, and any thought that Edward had been clinging to was immediately scattered. He gripped Tom’s hips hard and drew almost all the way out, held himself there until he heard Tom whine with anticipation and then drove in again. The resulting moan was pretty as hell, and suddenly he didn’t care if someone walked in and heard them. They weren’t the first to do this, wouldn’t be the last. He set a hard pace, done with restraining himself now that they were alone again, and was rewarded by Tom eagerly rocking back to meet him, panting little curses under his breath. 

It wasn’t long before his rhythm was faltering, a hand sliding down to take Tom in hand. “Please,” Tom babbled, bucking back against him and then forward into his fist, torn between which he wanted more. “Fuck—Edward please, _please_ , I’m—” 

Pretty as he was when he was begging, Edward could never deny him. It took one, two quick strokes, his thumb swiping through the wetness at the tip of Tom’s cock, before Tom was biting down on his own fist, stifling a desperate cry and stiffening beneath him, spurting over his hand. He fucked him through it, and was not far behind, doubling over and bracing a sticky hand against the wall by Tom’s head as he gave a few more hard, deep thrusts and then he was coming too, hips stuttering in their motion as he spilled inside. 

They both stood like that for a long moment, panting hard and struggling to catch their breath. “You’re going to be the death of me,” Edward chuckled, still breathing hard as he leaned down to press a kiss to Tom’s shoulder before easing out of him, reaching for the toilet paper to wipe his hand and to clean them both up. He was shaking as he straightened himself up, tugging his pants up, and he watched as Tom leaned heavily back against the side of the stall, looking beautifully disheveled as he buttoned his jeans and did his belt up again. 

“Sorry to spring that on you,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair in some vain attempt to straighten it, tucking the longest part behind his ear. “I should’ve talked to you about it first, I just…wanted to surprise you, I guess.” He managed to look sheepish as he stepped into Edward’s space again, and Edward immediately reached for him, pulling him in close to kiss him slow, now that they were both breathing right again.

“Some warning would’ve been nice,” he murmured against Tom’s lips, but there was a soft chuckle that followed it. “And I’d rather not make a habit of it but…not gonna say I didn’t enjoy it at least.” 

They waited a minute in silence, to make sure the coast was clear, before they stepped out and washed their hands; the whole time, Ed could feel himself grinning like an idiot. It was hard not to, given that he’d just had some of the best sex of his life - two nights in a row, if he was being honest with himself. “You wanna head out?” he asked, glancing over at Tom, who quickly shook his head, holding his hand out once it was dry.

“Not yet. Let me get you another drink,” he insisted, already tugging Edward back out into the hall. “It’s the least I can do.” 

___

Edward remembered two more rounds of shots…maybe three? Whatever they were, they were strong, enough that he’d made a face as he’d been downing them. He remembered dancing some more, not quite as lewdly, but Tom had been laughing, stunningly beautiful under the colored lights, his hands thrown up in the air and his eyes sparkling with joy. He was the prettiest man that Edward had ever laid eyes upon, and it had made him desperately want to kiss him, which he’d done, countless times. He could remember that at least.

There was a blurry bit of memory where they’d somehow found themselves out on the street, and then in the backseat of a cab, and he’d been kissing Tom again, could taste the whiskey on his tongue, couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He remembered shoving some money into the cab driver’s hand - probably too much, he hadn’t bothered to count - and then stumbling into an unfamiliar building, and an elevator he didn’t recognize. There were flashes of Tom pressed up against a mirrored wall, head thrown back and lips parted. Fumbling with keys in some long hallway. Almost tripping over the welcome mat, falling over and laughing until he was dizzy when he’d tried to get his shoes off. 

He’d said something…something that he couldn’t quite remember, when Tom had fallen down onto the floor with him in sympathy and they’d been laying there, Tom’s eyes were so fucking beautiful, his smile was like heaven, Edward couldn’t remember feeling this happy since—he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t ever been like this, had he? Before the sadness had come, before he’d buried himself in work to forget, had he ever felt this way? It didn’t matter. Tom had kissed him again. Could kiss him a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough.

He didn’t recognize the bed that Tom tucked him into, but the room was spinning, and he was too tired to care. The last thing that Edward was aware of was a warm body pressed up against his own, a comfort he appreciated as he finally closed his eyes and let sleep take him.


	5. Friday

_Friday._

The first thing that Edward was aware of was that it felt like someone had tried to split his skull open. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet and he was already in such agony that it made his stomach roll. He stayed still until the nausea had passed, and only then could he assess exactly where he was and what had happened the night before. He remembered being at the club, and drinking with Tom after they’d snuck off to the bathroom together. They’d left together…but where had they gone? Slowly, he opened his eyes, biting back a groan at the new wave of discomfort that came with even the slightest amount of light. This wasn’t his room. Turning his head, he found Tom, naked and curled up against him, snoring softly.

All at once, everything came rushing back. The cab ride, how Tom had said they should head to his place and god, Ed had been too drunk to think straight because he wouldn’t have agreed to that if he was sober, wouldn’t have agreed to spending the night. They’d made out in the elevator. Tom had dropped his keys in the hall. They’d tumbled through the door and he’d fallen over trying to get his shoes off and he’d been laying on the ground and then Tom was laying with him and. 

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He’d told Tom that he _loved_ him. 

He’d said exactly those words. Lying there, face to face on the hardwood floor, drunk out of his mind, he’d told Thomas Jopson, his boss’s nephew, that he loved him. He hadn’t meant to. This wasn’t supposed to be serious. Possibly the most horrifying realization was that maybe, some part of him had meant it, at least in some way. And now Tom was asleep next to him, and he’d have to answer to that and—

Oh god, what _time_ was it?

Stumbling out of bed, he went straight for his pants, where they’d gotten tossed onto the floor the night before in their haste to get into bed. It was seven fifty. He hadn’t set his alarm. He was due to be at work in an hour, only had last night’s clothes, had left his car at the club because he was way too drunk to drive himself home. And now, he was going to be late for work.

He was going to be late. For the first time since…

Fuck.

His chest clenched with a panic that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time as he gathered his clothing and tried to dress as quietly as he possibly could, with his head spinning and nausea threatening. It wasn’t the right thing to do, to leave without saying anything, and he knew it. But if Tom woke up, he’d have to face him, he’d have to talk about what he’d said the night before, and he couldn’t. He didn’t have answers.

Shoving his phone into the pocket, he didn’t look back at the bed as he rushed out through the living room and to the front door. His hands were shaking as he struggled to slip his shoes on, and he swore as he realized he didn’t have any way to lock the door behind him. It was early enough. Hopefully Tom wouldn’t be too angry about that. It was the smallest of his transgressions.

In the cab, headed back to the club, he made a quick call to Gore, warning him that he was running late and to make his excuses for him. After he’d hung up, he sat, with his head in his hands, and tried to think of anything but the way that Tom’s eyes had lit up when he’d blurted out his feelings the night prior - anything but that, and how they’d look rimmed with tears if he had to take those words back.

___

It was almost ten thirty when Tom began to stir. It was a slow process, trying to fight back against the headache and the vertigo that came with even the slightest movement. He would spend most of the morning suffering, he knew, but after how well the night had gone, it was worth it. Edward had told him that he _loved_ him and yeah, maybe it was a little early, but to know that he was being fallen for just as quickly and as deeply was the most incredible feeling. Slowly, he cracked open one eye and rolled over onto his side, to face Edward, only to find his bed empty, the sheets pushed down where he should have been laying. 

Frowning, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing at the head rush that almost threatened to make him sick. He’d thought for a moment that maybe, Edward was just in the bathroom, and that the movement had woken him. But as he looked around the room, he took stock of a few things. The bed was cold beside him, he could see the bathroom door open across the hall, couldn’t hear anyone moving around in the apartment, and Edward’s clothing was gone from where it had been tossed the night before.

The most awful feeling of dread washed over him, and he reached for his phone, where he’d dropped it on the floor next to the bed the night before, anticipating a message - something to explain when Edward had left, or why he hadn’t woken him, or anything really, only to find that there was nothing there at all. A particularly bad wave of nausea hit him then, combined with the sinking feeling in his chest, and he pushed himself out of bed, stumbling across the hall and into the bathroom.

It was a half hour before he felt well enough to force himself up and into the shower, and the whole while, his mind was racing, retracing over everything he’d said and done the night before. Had he overstepped some boundary that he hadn’t meant to? Or maybe, Edward was just running late for work and hadn’t had time to wake him on his way out? Maybe his phone was dead. Maybe he’d get a message from him later. This had to be some kind of misunderstanding.

Once he was out of the shower, after he’d downed some painkillers and forced himself to drink a glass of water, Tom wrapped himself up in a cozy blanket and settled on the couch. He typed a message to Edward, deleted it, retyped it, spent way too long agonizing over what he actually wanted to say, hoping that he wouldn’t sound too clingy. After all, they’d only known each other a few days, and he couldn’t expect Edward to always think to let him know what was going on.

Tom -   
I hope everything is okay and you’re not feeling too terrible this morning.

That was probably fine. It wasn’t too intrusive, he wasn’t asking too much, just giving his well-wishes considering how much shit he felt like after their adventure the night before. Surely Edward was just feeling equally terrible and didn’t have the energy to reply while he was working.

But noon came and went, and with it, there was no reply. In fact, Edward hadn’t even read his message. Tom tried his very best to distract himself with whatever was on television. When that didn’t work, he sat at his desk and tried to focus on editing pictures from the shoot he’d done the day before, but in his mindset, he was left hating every last thing that he was working on. Nothing felt good enough. 

By two, he gave up on ignoring his phone and looked down at it again. Under his message was one word: read. His heart sunk. There had to be some explanation. Everything had gone so well. 

Tom -   
Sorry to bug you. Did you make it to work okay?

Tom -   
It’s just weird not to hear from you, that’s all.

Trying to fight back the anxiety clawing at his chest, Tom rose from his desk. Maybe a walk would do him some good. He certainly couldn’t spend the rest of the afternoon sitting here, wondering what he’d done to cause Edward to ignore him.

___

The phone buzzing on the corner of his desk drew another frustrated sound from Edward, who pressed a hand to his temple, trying to will away the last of the headache that seemed to be resisting the extra strength painkillers he’d forced down his throat on his way to work. He’d been almost an hour late. He was damned lucky that Gore had made up a story about his car breaking down on the way to work. He wasn’t sure Crozier would have been alright with, ‘ _I’m sorry I’m late, I got drunk and fucked your nephew in a bathroom stall last night and then told him that I loved him and now I’m hungover and fighting off a massive anxiety attack’_ as an excuse. Thankfully, being late wasn’t something that he made a habit out of, and Crozier had been lenient. He’d have to work an extra hour tonight to make up for it, but that was more than fair.

Now if only he could focus on his work without his thoughts constantly being pulled back to Tom and everything he’d blurted out the night before. He was an absolute idiot. He’d fucked up so badly that he wasn’t even sure how to fix it. Backtracking wasn’t going to work. To take back what he’d said would be worse than having never said it at all. As messed up as he was, with all of his own issues carrying over from his last relationship, he didn’t want to do anything that would hurt Tom. The problem was that every time he thought about the commitment that came with a relationship, it felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the anxiety that inevitably flooded his chest. 

His phone buzzed a second time, and he heard the noise of a chair creaking somewhere across from his cubicle. Turning his head, he caught sight of Dundy leaning back in his seat and looking in his direction. He mouthed a little, “Sorry,” and then reached for his phone, biting back a sigh. Of course it was Tom. He could ignore it a while longer, but the guilt eating him up for making him worry on top of leaving him alone that morning was too much. 

Ed -   
I’m fine. I’m at work. Sorry, should’ve let you know sooner.

The message was read almost immediately. Tom must have been waiting for his reply.

Tom -   
I’m glad you’re alright. 

Tom -   
Sorry I wasn’t up to see you off this morning.

Ed -   
Nah, I didn’t want to wake you.

Tom -   
For future reference, it’s fine. I’d have felt like shit whether it was seven or noon.

Edward wasn’t quite sure what to reply to that. What was he supposed to say? _Actually I didn’t wake you up because I was having a panic attack. I didn’t mean to tell you that I love you. I’m a mess. You don’t want someone like me. I’m sorry for leading you on. You don’t have any idea how messed up I am. I don’t want you to ever have to know._

The thoughts were coming rapid-fire, and he had to put the phone down again and reach for his water bottle, guzzling some down in a few gulps. The cold was a bit of a shock but it drew him out of his thoughts, and he sighed, putting his phone down again and trying to focus on his work. They could talk later, once he’d straightened out his thoughts enough to make sense of them. 

But within just a few minutes, it buzzed again, and he glared at it, like the phone itself was responsible for Tom not getting the message that he was too busy to have a conversation with him right then. 

Tom -   
We should grab coffee when you’re off work. My treat, for getting you so drunk last night.

Edward grit his teeth, looking down at his phone. Just the thought of seeing Tom in person had him reeling again, his head immediately packed with all of those awful thoughts again, the same ones he’d been trying so hard to keep at bay. He couldn’t deal with this. Not now.

Ed -   
I can’t. Gotta work late. Sorry.

Tom -   
That’s fine! Dinner instead?

Ed -   
No. I’ve got a big deadline coming up on Monday. I’m going to be busy all weekend.

That was a lie. It was a blatant lie, and he felt awful for making it up, but Tom wasn’t going to take a simple no for an answer on this matter. He needed to do a lot of thinking before he could even think about seeing Tom again, in any way beyond a professional capacity. He needed to get his head straight, and he wasn’t going to be able to do that while he had an inbox full of emails that needed attention.

It took a few minutes before he got another reply, and when he looked down at it, the nausea from that morning came rushing back.

Tom -   
I have to come into the office today. I was going to surprise you.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Edward pushed himself up from his seat and made a beeline for the bathroom, locking the door behind him and leaning heavily against the door. His chest was heaving as he struggled to breathe, the headache back full force. He was going to have to find some excuse not to see Tom. He’d have to…hide in his cubicle, or, time a break for when he arrived, hide in the damned bathroom all afternoon if that was what it took. There was way too much rattling around in his brain.

Ed -   
I’m going to be busy. I don’t have time to see you.

On the screen, he watched as Tom typed something, then deleted it, then typed again, and deleted again. It took almost two minutes before the message finally came through.

Tom -  
Sorry to have bothered you.

Edward lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, trying to ignore the stab of guilt that came with Tom’s very curt response. He’d made a huge mistake, getting so involved with someone so quickly, and he knew it. He stared at Tom’s message for a long moment, considered how he should reply to that. Cutting it off could have been a mercy at this point, but he’d already hurt Tom’s feelings, and the idea of making it any worse was sickening to him. That was the most infuriating part. If it had been easy, to just break it off, stop texting him, pretend like none of this had happened, then he would have done it already. But Tom was a good man, and didn’t deserve to be ghosted.

He was trying to type _something_ when a knock came at the door, and he jumped, quickly shoving his phone back into his pocket. “S-sorry. Sorry, give me just a sec,” he called through the door, and crossed over to the sink so that he could splash some cool water on his face. When he emerged, he was determined to sit through the rest of the day without letting the whole mess with Tom force its way back into his thoughts. He had a job to do, and he’d be damned if he let a personal matter stop him from it.

___

It was a half hour before quitting time when Tom pulled into the parking lot. He could have just emailed the pictures to his uncle, but Francis had insisted that he come by for his end-of-week check-in, and he wasn’t about to make excuses. He should have known better than to get involved with someone who he was meant to work with. The coldness of Edward’s last text, followed by straight-up being ignored again, had him regretting every decision he’d made that week. He spent a number of minutes talking himself up to going inside, and promised himself that he’d go straight to the office, and then straight back to his car, keep his eyes on the floor, do whatever it took not to notice Edward and not to speak to him.

He succeeded in the first part. He even managed to smile through the meeting, while he and his uncle went over a number of photos he’d taken that were to be included in the next month’s issue of the magazine. He was very careful to make sure that nothing seemed amiss at all, though he politely declined an offer to join his uncles for dinner, stating that he was feeling a little under the weather and that he needed to go home and sleep. He truly hated lying, and usually avoided it at all costs, but the real reason why he wanted to go home was not something that he was willing to share.

He was doing so well, until he stepped out of the office and Edward was sitting _right there_ , squinting at his computer screen and, quite frankly, looking like hell. He could have just left, it would have been so easy, except that Edward chose that very moment to lift his head, and their eyes met, and Tom felt his his stomach drop. It had been the briefest of looks, and Edward immediately, and very purposefully, looked straight back down at his screen. In an instant, Tom could feel a prickling at the corner of his eyes, and before everything came crashing down, he rushed out of the office and back to his car.

Even then, he couldn’t sit and cry, like his body and mind both seemed intent on doing. His uncles would be leaving soon, and they’d recognize his car if he didn’t leave first. They’d see him, they’d notice that he’d been crying, they’d have questions and he couldn’t answer those questions because he didn’t have answers to give. And so, sniffling, miserable, he pulled himself together and resolved to drive home. There would be plenty of time for mope over the very long and lonely weekend that was waiting for him.

___

The look on Tom’s face had said it all. Edward hadn’t even been able to look at him. He’d disappointed him. He’d lead him on and hadn’t given him any sort of warning about any of the issues that dictated his ability to be in any sort of serious relationship. There were so many moments when he could have clarified, before everything had gotten carried away - before he’d woken in Tom’s bed and felt like his entire world was going to come crashing down around him. It had brought back a whole rush of memories that he’d been trying so hard to bury, betrayals that he didn’t want to think about, another body that had once laid next to him in bed, who had crushed his heart and had never looked back. 

Every time that he thought that he was over it, something would trigger all of that awful fear all over again and it would swallow him whole. All he wanted to do was go home and lay in his own bed, maybe take something to knock himself out so that he didn’t have to think about any of this. So that he didn’t have to think about the differences between the last man who had lived with him, and this new man who had come into his life, who he’d already screwed his chances with. So that he didn’t have to lay awake all night and stare at the ceiling and hate himself for getting stuck in something that he’d sworn he’d been over for the better part of two years now.

He got not a single other thing done, sitting at his desk with that miserable headache throbbing at his temples again. He reread the same line on his screen two dozen times before he gave up and shut everything down. On their way out, John and Graham, mostly unaware of the tragedy he’d brought on himself, stopped by and told him to take it easy and not drink himself stupid over the weekend, laughing as they made their way for the door. He couldn’t even force a smile, but did manage a chuckle, mostly at the irony of it. He wouldn’t touch another drop of alcohol over the weekend. Couldn’t do it without thinking about the bliss of losing himself with Tom the night prior, and then, the horror of the things he’d said when he hadn’t been able to control his mouth. They took it as his usual end-of-week grumpiness, waved goodbye to him as they headed out the front door with intentions of hitting up the closest pub. 

There was traffic on the way home. The lightbulb in his entryway had burned out. Nothing good was on tv. His microwave hadn’t quite cooked his frozen dinner through, and it was still cold in places, but it didn’t matter. Edward couldn’t taste it. He was eating because eating was what someone did when they’d avoided food all day, out of a nasty combination of hangover and anxiety. He glanced over at his phone, where it had been left on the far end of his coffee table, and stared it down for a long moment before picking it up. The tension in his chest hadn’t gone away since he’d seen Tom in the office. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been such a wreck.

Scrolling through his contacts, his thumb hovered over one particular number - that of his therapist, who he’d reduced to once-monthly visits when his life had started to get back on track after the break-up. It had been almost two weeks since his last session, and so much had changed in such a short time. She thankfully had a ‘call-whenever-you-need-me’ sort of policy, within reason, and he probably could have called her right then without disturbing much. But he decided against it, for the time being at least. He’d sleep on it, see how he felt in the morning, and if he was still this anxious, maybe he’d see about getting in for an emergency session whenever she had time that week. 

He realized, belatedly, that he’d never texted Tom back that afternoon. Cursing under his breath, he sat back on the couch, one knee bouncing nervously as he opened up the message again and tried to figure out what he wanted to say. Nothing felt right. Nothing could adequately describe everything that he was feeling. But he had to try. He couldn’t just say nothing. That wasn’t fair.

Ed -   
Don’t be sorry. I’m just really busy.

There was a long delay between when the message was read and when the reply came. Edward frowned at the screen when his phone buzzed.

Tom -  
You really don’t need to make excuses.

Tom -  
You can just say that you don’t want to see me.

Ed -   
I’m not making excuses.

Tom -   
Funny. You didn’t mention a big project when we were together last night.

Tom -   
Or at all this week, come to think of it.

Ed -   
Sure, because the best time to talk about work is when we’re fucking in a bathroom stall.

Ed -   
Didn’t realize I had to tell you everything I’m doing when you’re not around.

Tom started to type something, the symbol popping up on the screen for a minute, and then it disappeared. Edward sat there, his phone held in his hand, and waited. And waited. And nothing came. No reply. Whatever. He had no obligation to Tom. He sure as hell didn’t need to explain himself to a man he’d only met a few days ago.

He gave up on eating his lukewarm dinner and left it on the table, turning the tv off and making for the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet was exactly what he’d expected to see: dark circles under his tired, blank eyes, lips drawn into a frown, which only deepened as he opened the door and fumbled with a bottle that had been tucked up on the top shelf. He’d been prescribed something to knock him out when his anxiety was causing insomnia, which was a rare occurrence recently, but he was thankful for it tonight. Popping two pills into his mouth, he turned on the tap and used his hands to scoop some water into his mouth, knocking his head back as he swallowed. He’d be out cold in a half hour, if he had anything to say about it.

Tucked up in bed, he could already feel the effects of it, that sort of haze that came just before sleep. He put his phone on silent and pushed it across the top of his bedside table, as far as it could get from him without falling off the table. Turning away from it, he pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and heaved a sigh. In the morning, he’d talk to Tom. He’d explain why this couldn’t work - that he was some kind of emotionally-stunted idiot because the love of his fucking life had ripped his heart out two years ago and he was still afraid, to this very day, of the very thought of letting someone else in. He’d let him down gently, promise not to let it get in the way of their professional lives. They could figure something out. They didn’t really have a choice otherwise. 

Thankfully, just a few minutes later, the meds kicked in and knocked him out quickly. It was the only way he’d get any sleep that night, his mind heavy with a self-hatred that he’d almost forgotten that he was capable of harboring.

___

Across town, Tom was sitting up in bed, knees drawn to his chest, his cheeks flushed red and tear-stained. He hadn’t meant to get attached. He really hadn’t. Usually, his encounters with men were so easy to put aside once they were done. But Edward was different. Edward’s smile made him feel a way that he hadn’t counted on when they’d first met just a few days ago. He couldn’t call it love, didn’t know him well enough for it to be that, but there was fondness, a longing, a want to get to know him better and to be a part of his life. He’d felt like there had been some genuine kind of connection between them. Edward had told him that he’d _loved_ him last night and he knew it wasn’t that deep but the joy he’d felt had been immediate and almost overwhelming.

To wake up to a cold bed that morning had been the sharpest contrast. He’d expected to wake up to Edward kissing him goodbye, at the very least, and really, he’d hoped for more. He’d really wanted to stumble out of bed and get them both water and toast and something for their headaches and for them to make plans to meet up and maybe nap on the couch with some shitty movie playing in the background after work. Instead, he’d been ignored all day, and then snapped at for trying to figure out what exactly was going on in Edward’s mind. 

He thought about replying to that last message. There were so many things that he wanted to say. He wanted to be furious at Edward for leading him on, but it wasn’t his place to really be angry about anything. They hadn’t put a label on whatever this week had been. He was the one who had gotten too invested in the first place. More than anything, he wanted to know exactly what he’d done wrong, what had pushed Edward away so quickly when just the night before, everything had felt like it was going great. He’d spent hours that day, just wracking his brain, replaying every moment of their night out almost obsessively, trying to pinpoint the moment when everything had gone wrong, but he couldn’t figure it out. And more and more, it was seeming like he wasn’t going to get that answer.

Sniffling, he rubbed at his eyes and tossed his phone across the room, to the pile of laundry he’d left on the floor. If Edward didn’t want to talk, that was fine. He didn’t have time for men who couldn’t be mature enough to sort their problems out and talk like adults. Despite that bitter insistence to himself, he couldn’t help but mourn something that felt like it could have been a wonderful relationship. He spent the rest of the night fighting a lump in his throat that just didn’t quite seem to want to go away, trying to think of anything but how the night prior, Edward had been laying right there next to him. 


	6. Saturday

_Saturday._

What time was it?

That was the downside to the medication Edward had taken the night prior - the wake-up was always unpleasantly groggy and slow, and whether the pills let him go down for six hours or twelve was always a toss-up. Rolling onto his side, he groaned, rubbing at his eyes in some attempt to dispel the lingering haze of sleep. He couldn’t even recall what time he’d actually gone to bed. He remembered giving up on dinner and deciding to crawl into bed early. And then, he remembered snapping at Tom, and the immediate upset that came flooding back with that was enough to wake him the rest of the way up.

He glanced at the clock on the far nightstand, wrinkling his nose. Nine thirty four. It was a little early for a weekend, but he was awake, and with his mind already right back on their argument the night prior, there was no way he was going back to sleep. Reaching for his phone, he found himself disappointed, though he should have expected it. There was no good morning message from Tom, like he’d gotten used to the last few days. 

What he hadn’t expected was the sinking feeling in his chest that came along with it, and the realization that he really did look forward to hearing from him in the morning when he woke up, even if it was a habit that had only been forming since the beginning of the week. It was something that his last lover had never done, even before they’d been living together, a little act of kindness that showed how Tom was thinking about him from the moment he opened his eyes. Sighing, he opened their messages from the night before, scrolling up a little. He’d been a right asshole, that was for sure. He should’ve at least made some effort to let Tom know what was going on in his mind.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t even know for sure what was going on up there. He knew that his brain was drawing parallels between how quickly he’d ended up in bed with his ex, and how quickly it had happened with Tom, too. He knew that waking up with someone in his bed had been a first since the breakup, and that his anxiety tied to that made sense for someone who had gone through such a rough separation. He didn’t know how to explain to Tom that the idea of someone wanting to get close to him again was fucking terrifying and that he didn’t know how to be a boyfriend to someone when he’d sworn that he wasn’t ever going to end up tied down again. 

He had to say something. He needed to try, at least, because Tom hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t fair to let him go on believing that this didn’t all just boil down to the fact that Ed was incredibly messed up and incapable of getting past everything he’d been holding onto unnecessarily for the better part of two years.

Ed -   
Hey. I need to talk to you.

Ed -   
Give me a text when you’re up?

He didn’t expect a message back right away, considering it was the weekend. Most people slept in when they got the chance, right? 

But as the morning dragged on, and no reply came, Edward couldn’t help but feel that anxious tension gnawing away at him from the inside again. He tried to keep busy, made himself something decent for breakfast that wasn’t microwaved, cleaned the kitchen and did all of the dishes. He even checked his emails and replied to anything decently urgent - a rarity on the weekend, though he felt like it was fair, considering the fact that he’d wasted so much time the day prior between being late and then fighting off a panic attack thanks to Tom’s unexpected appearance at the office. Hours ticked by, and when his phone had been silent for the entirety of the morning, he couldn’t help but check if his messages had gone through.

They had. Tom had read them. There had been no response.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he breathed out a heavy sigh. He really had fucked up this time. 

Switching to a different message, he tried to swallow back another wave of nerves as he sent another text.

Ed -   
Sorry to bother you. Are you busy?

John -   
Not particularly. Is there something you need?

Ed -   
Yeah. I need to talk. I messed things up with Tom.

He hesitated a moment, nervously tapping his foot against the ground, mustering the courage to keep going.

Ed -   
I woke up in his bed yesterday and freaked out. I left without saying anything. 

Ed -   
He won’t talk to me. I don’t know what to do.

For a long minute, John was typing something, but then it stopped, and instead, Edward’s phone started to ring. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he answered it, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his stomach about having to speak out loud about any of this. Before he could even say hello, John was already speaking on the other end of the line. 

“I thought you said that things were going well. What happened, exactly?”

Ed sighed, sitting back on the couch and drawing his knees up. “They were going well. That’s the problem,” he muttered. If things had gone badly from the get-go, he’d have been able to put all of this aside and just move on. But the fact that he actually _liked_ Tom was an issue, because it was forcing him to confront a lot of things that he’d only really ever talked about in therapy, stuff that was fine when it wasn’t put into a practical situation like this one. “We went out Thursday night, got really drunk, and took a cab back to his place because I wasn’t in any shape to drive. It was fine when I wasn’t sober enough to make sense of how I was feeling. It was _fun_ , you know? Just…being stupid together, falling into bed together…”

On the other end, he could hear John giving little affirmative noises, but otherwise just letting him talk. He was the most level-headed of their friend group. Of course he would understand exactly what Ed needed in that moment. “I knocked out, he tucked me into bed I guess. I woke up in the morning and I didn’t know where the hell I was. Waking up with him next to me was…” He swallowed hard, as all of those emotions surfaced again. “It reminded me of _him_.”

“Of Tozer?”

Edward couldn’t even answer at first. He nodded, feeling his throat close up at the very mention of his name. “…yeah,” he finally managed, the word rushing out of him as if he had to force it. That wasn’t far from being accurate. “Yeah. It made me think of waking up with him. Waking up in his flat, when we first started dating. I…” Clearing his throat, he lifted a hand to rub at his stinging eyes. “I panicked. I didn’t mean to. It isn’t like Tom did anything wrong I just…”

“This is the first time you’ve seen someone more than one night since the break up,” John pointed out, his tone even and careful as he breached the subject. “It’s going to be hard, having new firsts with someone after being hurt like you were.” 

Edward was nodding again, even if John couldn’t see it. “The thing is, I’m…” He hesitated, wiping at tears that were threatening at the corners of his eyes. “John, I’m a fucking mess. I’ve been doing fine on my own but…how the hell am I supposed to be a decent partner to someone when something as stupid as waking up in the same bed as them sends me running? I know Tom hasn’t done anything to deserve it but my brain just keeps…telling me I’m going to wake up someday expecting him to be there and he’ll just be gone, just like Sol. That he’s going to get to know me and decide that I’m not worth all of the trouble. I’m…damaged goods. No one wants that.” 

It was probably the most honest thing he’d said in days, even if saying it out loud made him feel sick. He was long past the hangover, but his head was throbbing all over again. Every part of him was fighting against the breakdown that had been welling up inside of him since the day prior, and maybe, it was time to just let it go. He sniffled, wiped at his eyes again, tilted his head back and tried to take in a long, deep breath.

On the other end of the line, John hummed, and then went silent for a minute. When he spoke again, his tone was gentle, but his words were not minced. “Don’t you think you should let him decide what he wants?” When Ed didn’t answer, he pressed on. “You’re making an awful lot of assumptions for someone who hasn’t actually spoken about any of this with the person involved. Maybe you need to sit down and have a proper conversation with him about it, explain how you’re feeling, and why. And if he doesn’t understand, or isn’t willing to be patient with you for it, then maybe he’s not what you need.”

For a long minute, Edward wasn’t sure what to say. John had a very solid point, one that he had already known, but having it said out loud to him by an outside source that he trusted somehow just validated it and made it more of a viable option. “He isn’t going to like what I have to say.” 

“You can’t have a good relationship without being honest with one another. If he’s so worth it that you’re calling me on a Saturday morning, when you’d usually still be asleep, then I’d say he’s worth trying to talk to about your insecurities. You never know. He might surprise you, Ned.” 

“Mm.” It was the most noncommittal noise that Edward could manage at that moment, with his throat tight and his chest aching and John’s very straight-forward point hitting home a lot harder than he’d expected it to.

“He’s not Sol. You can’t assume it’s going to turn out the same. You’ve been so happy all week…just seems to me like it’d be worth it to give it a shot.” John’s voice muffled for a minute - it sounded like he’d covered the receiver - and then he was back. “Tommy made brunch, I have to go. But you really should try to call him. Talk to him. And then let me know how it goes. If you need someone to come keep you company later, I’d be glad to bring you something to eat and sit with you for a while.” 

Sighing, Ed nodded once more. “Yeah. Thanks for hearing me out, John. Send Tommy my love, tell him I want in on the next brunch.” 

“I promise I’ll invite you next time,” John replied, and then, softer, more seriously: “Chin up. Things will work out alright.” 

The phone clicked on the other end, and Ed put his own down, forcing himself up off of the couch. John had a point. The least he could do was to try to apologize and explain himself to Tom. After all, it was clear to him at this point that some part of him - some scared, cowering part of him - desperately wanted to try to make things work with Tom, even if it took a lot of patience and a lot of working around all of the issues that Sol had left him with. But how was he supposed to get Tom to listen to him when he wouldn’t even respond to his messages?

Padding into the bathroom, he ran the water in the sink, splashing some on his face to wash away the trails from the few tears that had escaped. Talking to John had lifted a weight that he’d been carrying around since the morning prior, and his mind felt a little clearer. The cool water helped with that too. As he straightened, toweling off his face, he froze, staring at his reflection, his eyes widening as an idea struck. He knew how to get through to Tom. 

The towel hit the floor, and he retreated back into the living room to grab his phone. Maybe it was time for a little honesty all around.

___

Tom had woken up just as miserable as the night prior, and he knew that would absolutely not do. Thankfully, he was saved by a phone call shortly after he’d gotten out of bed, and had agreed to spend the afternoon and dinner with his uncles. Having somewhere to go, at the very least, would keep him from sitting and moping for the entire weekend. Why he was moping was beyond him. He’d known Edward a grand total of four days before everything had fallen apart. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d gotten too invested. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Edward decided to pull away.

The messages that he’d gotten from him that morning had made his stomach churn. The open-endedness of it was infuriating. Edward wanted to talk to him, after blatantly ignoring him for most of the day prior, and then snapping at him, as if him being upset over being ignored was the problem, and not that Edward had disappeared without saying anything. Tom had wanted to talk then. He really didn’t want to talk anymore.

And so, he muted their chat, shoved his phone into his camera bag, and went about getting dressed and ready to leave. He needed to think of something besides that nagging memory of Edward laying on his floor, flushed and laughing and blurting out that he loved him. Replaying it over and over in his mind was just making the entire situation so much more difficult to bear.

The drive was an easy enough one, and pleasant. His uncles had settled out of town after they’d gotten married, both of them ready to willingly accept a longer commute in exchange for the near-idyllic life that they lived in a beautiful house out in the countryside. It suited them better than the apartment they’d kept in the city while they’d been dating, which had always been tastefully decorated and cozy, but had never felt quite right. Their new home afforded them space for a well-kept garden, where they grew some of their own produce. They’d purposefully insisted on finding something with an extra bedroom that could be used as a guest room, meant mostly for Tom’s use, and he would frequently spend weekends there when city life became too much. 

The sun was out and there was a lovely, cool breeze blowing as he made his way up the winding driveway, parked just off to the side of the house and stepped out, gravel crunching under his feet. The air was fresher out here, and he always felt refreshed by it. That particular day, with so much weighing on his mind, it was a much needed step outside of his normal routine. With his bag slung over his shoulder, he made his way up the path to the front door, and was greeted by James’ smiling face before he could even manage to knock. 

“We’re baking cranberry scones,” he said, as he stepped back to let Tom in, as if the scent of the baked goods filling the air wasn’t indication enough. He could only hope that someday, he’d end up as happy as they were. Wedded bliss looked good on both of them, for as business-minded and tough as they were in the workplace, they were just as content to spend their weekends baking and gardening and reading books from their ever-growing library, curled up on the couch together. Their relationship was something that Tom envied, and sincerely hoped that he might have for himself some day.

“ _We’re_ not baking, James is baking,” Francis called, from his place at the breakfast bar, where he had a book laid out before him. “I’m supervising. You know how he destroys the kitchen with his experiments.” 

“Oh hush. If it weren’t for my experimenting, you’d be missing out on all sorts of tasty baked goods,” James quipped, stopping by to press a kiss to Francis’s cheek before heading back into the kitchen to tidy up the mess that he had most certainly made. Tom lingered in the doorway to watch them for that moment, trying valiantly not to think about his argument with Edward the night before, and the weird, false hope he’d had when he’d felt that spark with him, for the first time in his life.

His melancholy must have shown on his face, because when Francis turned to him, he had that look about him, like he knew that something was wrong immediately. He was a terribly observant man, and it wasn’t surprising that he’d have picked up on it. “Haven’t seen you looking this out of sorts since business school,” he said, nodding toward the empty seat next to him. “Anything we can do to help?”

There was momentary hesitation - not because he didn’t trust them with his life and everything that entailed, but because of their professional relationship with Edward. In talking about why he was feeling so unsettled, he knew it meant putting someone else’s career on the line, and regardless of what happened between himself and Edward, he had no intention of ruining his life over something as simple as a weird week in which they’d found each other and lost each other again just as quickly. Perhaps it was just a matter of talking about the issue in general, rather than mentioning specifics. He’d just have to leave the details out.

“Just…some love-life woes, I’m afraid,” he said, as he settled into the empty seat, folding his hands on the countertop before him. There was a light dusting of flour across it, and a few powdery patches on the front of Francis’s shirt, he noticed; undoubtedly from some playful little squabble earlier in the afternoon. “I…started seeing someone this week. I had thought it was going well, but…perhaps I was mistaken. I’ve got a terrible habit of buying into something wholeheartedly before I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Across the room, James paused in his cleaning to look back over his shoulder at Tom, frowning. He’d kept his promise, and had not spoken a word to Francis about what was going on between his nephew and Little. It seemed as if the other end of the bargain had not been upheld and it was difficult not to feel protective. Tom wasn’t his own, by blood, but he loved him just the same, and watching him struggle to put his feelings to words after he’d clearly been hurt was more upsetting than he’d anticipated. 

“Well,” he said, crossing over to the wine rack and selecting a bottle, “Whoever he is, he’s missing out. Any man would be lucky to have you.” Pulling the cork from the bottle, he poured three glasses, crossing over to hand one each to Francis and Tom, then taking up his own. Francis gave him a look from behind his own glass. He could tell when his husband was simmering with barely-contained frustration and now was one of those moments. There was something more going on, he was certain of it. James had always been terrible at hiding his emotions.

“The problem, though, is that I can’t figure out what I did to push him away,” Tom continued on, after taking a sip of his wine, unable to keep the misery from creeping into his voice. “We went out every night this week, had incredible conversations that made me feel like he genuinely cared. The last time I saw him…” He laughed, but it wasn’t a particularly gleeful one, caught in his throat on the way out and made him want to cry. “He said some very sweet things that I can’t get out of my head. I don’t understand how we could go from that to not talking in a span of hours.”

“It sounds to me like the problem is all his, and nothing you can be blamed for,” Francis sighed, resting a hand on Tom’s back and rubbing there gently. “Have you tried speaking to him on the matter?”

“I did, yesterday, and it didn’t go particularly well,” Tom sighed, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. “He didn’t want to talk about it. Now he wants to talk and I…” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I want to anymore. I’m not sure that I want to risk subjecting myself to this same behavior down the road. It’s frustrating because I can’t say I’ve ever clicked with someone like I do with him but…I don’t want to invest in something that could fall apart so easily.”

He was about to continue on when there was a chime from across the room. James dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, frowning at the screen. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to take this. Francis, dear, would you keep an eye on the scones please? They’ll be ready any minute.” 

___

Ed -   
I’m so sorry to bother you on the weekend sir.

Ed -  
I have a personal matter that I need help with.

J. Fitzjames -   
I know. That personal matter is crying in my kitchen as we speak.

Edward grimaced, flooded with guilt again over what he’d done to Tom. Christ. He hadn’t meant to make him cry. He hadn’t meant to upset him at all. 

Ed -   
I’m so sorry. I made a horrible mistake. 

Ed -   
I tried to apologize to him this morning but he won’t answer his phone.

J. Fitzjames -   
I don’t blame him. Whatever you did, he’s shaken. 

J. Fitzjames -  
You’ll need to do an awful lot more than just apologize to him. It sounds to me like he’s just about given up on you. 

Ed -   
I need your help. Please. I’ve got something in mind, but I can’t remember his address for the life of me.

Ed -   
I wasn’t in the best way the last time I was there.

There was a long hesitation before the next message came through, and for a minute, Edward was battling down the awful, creeping dread that he’d not only ruined his potential relationship with Tom, but that he’d thrown his career out the window at the same. When his phone did finally buzz, he let out a breath that he’d been holding, relief flooding over him all at once. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least he had an ally in this.

J. Fitzjames -   
I won’t give you his address, but I will give you ours. 

J. Fitzjames -   
He’ll likely be spending the night. Let him sleep on it. Tomorrow may be your best bet.

J. Fitzjames -   
I’m going to have to tell Francis. I can’t very well keep it a secret from him if you intend on showing up on our doorstep.

Ed -   
That’s fine. I’ll apologize to him too, if need be.

Ed -   
Thank you. I owe you.

J. Fitzjames -   
Just make it up to Tom, and we can call it even.

Ed -   
You’ve got it. Thank you.

Edward glanced at the time, then pushed himself to his feet, making a beeline for the bedroom to grab his keys and wallet. It was already four, and he had so much to do before the night was over, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he would do just about anything for another chance to see Tom smile.

___

By the time that James returned to the kitchen, the scones were set on the counter to cool - most of them, at least, because he then found that Francis and Tom had migrated to the living room and were sitting together on the couch, happily taste-testing the first batch. “Couldn’t even wait for me to join you, mm?” he teased, as he took up the only other empty spot, in a recliner across from them. He was pleased to see that Tom didn’t seem to be quite so torn up anymore. Perhaps talking out loud about his issue had done the trick.

“They smelled too good to resist,” Francis explained, as he popped the last bit into his mouth, humming in appreciation. “And I thought something sweet might lighten the mood.” He glanced over at Tom, and they briefly made eye contact; Tom nodded, and then Francis looked back over to his husband. “Were you aware that the man in question was your assistant?”

For a minute, James looked like he was about to try to think up some elaborate lie, or to give some dramatic reaction to the news; he wasn’t supposed to know, really, but there was no reason to keep it a secret anymore. And so, with a light sigh, he nodded. “I did know. I made a promise to him, not to say anything, but if you’re aware now, then I suppose there isn’t any point in hiding it anymore. We spoke about it, briefly, mid-week. We’re all aware that there are no specific rules against it, given their positions, and it wasn’t my place to be sharing anyone’s secrets.”

“I’m not angry that you kept it from me, James,” Francis insisted, giving him a reassuring look from across the room. “You had a promise to keep. But we are posed with a particularly difficult problem now, given the nature of our connection to both parties.” 

“You really aren’t,” Tom interjected, shaking his head and sitting forward, to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m only in the office once a week. I can continue to be professional, regardless of what happens. I won’t make it an issue, and from how you’ve spoken of him in the past, Edward doesn’t seem like the type either.” Even after their falling out, he wasn’t about to cost either of them their positions over something so petty. He was a better man than that. 

“Well. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see how everything plays out. It is only fair to give you both the benefit out the doubt,” James agreed. He did trust them both - knowing Tom on a personal level was enough, and Edward had been a hard-working and faithful employee for years. That, and the hope that the following day might bring with it reconciliation, were enough to assuage any doubts that he might have.

Getting to his feet once more, James held a hand out to Tom. “Enough fretting over him for the time being,” he said, “ Come now, I need some extra hands in the kitchen to prepare dinner. I thought we might make fresh pasta.I know you’ve been wanting to learn how.” 

Tom couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, a little bit of honest happiness after two very long days of being miserable. “I have been. I’d love to give it a shot.” He allowed himself to be tugged to his feet, but before James could let go of his hand, he instead pulled him into a hug. Francis was behind him in an instant, Tom’s two favorite people in the world wrapping him up in a much needed embrace. 

“Whatever happens, you’ll get through it,” Francis murmured, giving them both a good squeeze. “You’re a tough lad. You’ve always managed to pull through before.”

“And we’ll be here. Reassurance and baked goods and all,” James added. 

“Thank you,” Tom murmured, drawing in a steadying breath before they let go. “Both of you. Now let’s get dinner going. Afterward, I’d love to spend some time in the garden with you both. I’ve been meaning to take some pictures of all of the fresh blooms.”

___

Dinner was a lovely affair, filled with stories of James’s travels in Asia, which he recounted with the same enthusiasm as if he was talking to an entire audience instead of just his family sat around the table. Francis did his part and scoffed at all of the least appropriate moments, interjecting how ‘that couldn’t possibly be true’ or, ‘you’re exaggerating, that’s just ridiculous’, and it only seemed to instigate even more grandiose stories. Tom laughed more in that hour than he had since the last night he’d spent with Edward, and it felt good to leave the table with a full stomach and a light heart. His glass was refilled many times throughout, and he was delightfully tipsy by the time they made their way into the garden, the setting sun dappling golden light over the beautiful flowerbeds that James had lovingly planted when they’d first made the move to the house. It was still pleasantly warm out, and they spent quite some time enjoying the fresh air and good conversation. As promised, Tom took a whole slew of pictures of the garden, and then, grinning, insisted that his uncles should pose for him too. 

Once it had started to get dark, they’d retreated inside together, and despite his intention to make the drive back home, Francis insisted that he should stay the night. The guest room was ready and waiting, as always, and after another scone - there was always room in his stomach for something sweet - he hugged them both once more and bid them a goodnight, and disappeared upstairs to get some rest. 

There was a small dresser in the guest room, and he had started to keep a few spare articles of clothing there, just in case. He pulled out a loose t-shirt and changed into it, then grabbed his phone almost as an after-thought before he climbed into bed. There was a message from one of his friends - Billy - asking if he was free for drinks, but otherwise, nothing important. It wasn’t terribly surprising that Edward hadn’t tried to reach out again, even if some part of him had hoped that he would try just a little harder to not lose him. 

Best not to linger on it, he thought, as he snuggled down beneath the covers and turned off the light. 


	7. Sunday

_Sunday._

Tom was woken by the chirping of birds outside of his window, the sun streaming in through a gap in the curtains and spilling across the floor and the bedspread and making the entire room delightfully warm and hazy. Maybe it was at least partially because he’d spent the better part of the past two days all wrapped up in unnecessary stress, but he’d slept heavily the night prior, with a stomach full of food and a heart full of love. He felt refreshed, as he sat up and leaned back against the headboard, and took a few minutes to let himself wake slowly, not yet bothering himself with his phone, with emails or texts or news or anything beyond just rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He frequently threw himself right into the world, but moments like this were worth savoring.

Once he’d cast off that sleepy fog, the next thing he was acutely aware of was the smell of breakfast wafting into the room. He often wondered how much James went out of his way to cook for him - if they ate this well whenever he wasn’t around, or if the extra effort was being put in for his benefit. Regardless, he was thankful for it, and so was his stomach, which rumbled quietly, a reminder that he needed to eventually feed himself. That was enough to motivate him to get out of bed. It would be rude, after all, to be late for breakfast.

He picked out some clean clothes from his drawer in the dresser, slipped into the bathroom across the hall, and indulged in a brief but hot shower. When he emerged, he felt put-together, in a way that he hadn’t since he’d woken up alone. He grabbed his phone on the way downstairs, glancing at the screen and noting a few things that he would have to deal with later - all business related. Nothing from Edward. Not surprising.

What was surprising was who was in the kitchen. Where he had expected to find James fussing over their food, Francis was instead, a number of pots and pans spread over the range, and the entire room filled with the most mouth-watering aroma. He was even wearing an _apron_ , which was bordering on ridiculous, really, and Tom said so after having a mimosa pushed into his hand in passing by James, who was headed out to the garden to get some fresh air before their meal was ready. 

“He wouldn’t let me cook without it,” Francis groused, nodding toward James’s retreating form. “Pitches a fit if I get stains on my shirts, when he spent most of last night walking around with flour all over himself.” He shook his head, turning to tend to a pot that was threatening to boil over. “He’s lucky that he’s so good-looking.” 

Tom laughed softly, leaning up against the counter and sipping at his drink. “You adore him, uncle. Don’t even try to deny it.” 

Francis glanced over at him, a warm smile spreading across his face. “I wouldn’t dare. I count my blessings each day.” He reached for a dish towel to wipe his hands, glancing toward the open back door. “Besides, if I did try, he’d be in here in an instant to correct me.”

That spurred another round of laughter, and Tom pushed off of the counter, setting his drink aside in favor of gathering dishes to set the table for their frankly impressive breakfast - or, brunch he supposed, given that it was already just past eleven. He found himself caught up in his thoughts, once again mildly envious of the easy and loving life that they’d built together. As he put out plates and cutlery, he tried desperately not to let his thoughts wander back to Edward. There would be other men, he was certain. He would just have to be patient. And, perhaps, more cautious, in the future.

Breakfast was practically a feast. Francis had gone above and beyond, preparing everything from eggs and sausage to baked beans, soda bread, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms. Jars of marmalade and fruit preserves were set out on the table as well, and a little plate with the scones left over from the night prior. James came back in from the garden smelling like the flowers, pink in the cheeks from the sunlight, and he stopped to wrap an arm around Tom’s shoulders and to give him a good squeeze, bowed down to press a kiss to Francis’s cheek, and then made his way to the kitchen to grab the champagne and orange juice, to top off everyone’s drinks. They ate slowly, talked at length about the book that Francis had been reading the day before, and then about Tom’s recent fascination with gardens - flowers, in particular, and their lovely color variations - and then James told them about a garden he’d seen once when he’d been traveling across Asia, with flowers of every kind and every color spread across what he said felt like acres. 

It was as they were beginning to clear the table that the doorbell rang. Francis was already halfway back to the kitchen, with his arms full, and Tom was helping gather the rest of the dishes; he entirely missed the knowing look that his uncles shared behind him. Francis had been briefed on the situation before bed the night prior, and they had both been anticipating it. 

“Would you be a dear and go see who’s at the door?” James asked, inclining his head in that direction as he picked up the last stack of dishes, brushing past him and toward the kitchen. It was an odd request, but Tom didn’t linger on it; it was probably just a delivery of some kind, or maybe one of their neighbors stopping by, and he knew them all fairly well, given how often he was here. The latch clicked as he unlocked the door and took a step back - and then almost shut it as quickly as he’d opened it, out of sheer surprise.

Edward was standing there, in the doorway, with the most ridiculously large and colorful bouquet of flowers clutched in his hands. There were all sorts and all colors, everything from pretty purple hydrangea to bright orange lilies to the softest, pinkest roses Tom had ever seen in his life. But for how lovely the flowers were, more stunning was the man behind them, looking all kinds of remorseful, though his eyes were shining with hope as he looked up at Tom from the doorstep. His hair had been cut and carefully combed back, his beard neatly trimmed. He’d worn the dark blue shirt that Tom had loved so much on him, though this time it was paired with a tie, making it perfectly clear that he’d poured his all into making sure that he looked his very best.

“Edward…” Tom breathed his name in utter disbelief. He had to be dreaming. It didn’t make any sense at all for Edward to show up here, at his uncles’ home, especially not after the radio silence he’d been treated to since Friday. “What are you doing here? How…?”

“I had to see you,” Edward answered. “I know…I messed up. Badly. And I needed to tell you in person. Some lame apology over text messages isn’t what you deserve to hear from me.”

Tom sighed, folding his arms across his chest, his gaze flickering down to the flowers and then back up to Edward’s handsome face. Some small, scared voice in the back of his mind desperately wanted him to tell Ed to go away, because he was still hurting. He still wanted to be angry. But his heart wanted answers, if nothing else. And really, though it scared him to admit it, it wanted so much more than just answers. “I wasn’t going to talk to you again,” he admitted. “I’ve been very upset at you. I was planning on blocking your number and just…” He shrugged his shoulders, because he didn’t want to say _‘moving on’_ even if that’s exactly what he’d planned to do.

Edward’s shoulders visibly sagged under the weight of that knowledge, that he’d been that close to losing someone who he was beginning to realize was really, truly worth holding on to. “I should’ve been up-front with you about a lot of things,” he said, with a nod. He couldn’t look straight at Tom. Anywhere was better than seeing the apprehension and hurt on his face. “I need to make things right. I’m not asking for you to forgive me, I just…” He swallowed hard, the plastic wrapped around the flowers crinkling in his hands. “Can we talk?”

Leaning up against the door frame, Tom considered it. Last night, Francis had pointed out to him that anything worth being this upset over was also worth taking calculated risks for. For how uncertain he felt, something in his gut was telling him that this was a chance that he needed to take. It would only be fair, to let Edward explain himself, at the very least. Tom wasn’t the kind of guy to just outright refuse to hear someone out when they were making such a genuine, honest effort. 

“Yeah. We can talk,” he finally conceded, stepping away from the door, letting his arms fall to his sides once more. As he crossed the threshold, Edward handed him the bouquet, and he smiled despite himself; the scent of the flowers was light and fresh and filled the air around him immediately. “These are lovely. Very thoughtful of you.”

“It was the least I could do,” Edward explained, with a shrug of his own. “I know you’ve been all about flowers lately. I wanted to do something to make you smile.” The look that Tom had given him in the office on Friday, betrayed and heartbroken, had been all his fault. He never wanted to be the one to make him hurt like that again. 

Tom led the way through the house, setting the flowers carefully on the dining room table - he’d need to find something to put them in once they were through talking. He didn’t notice James curiously peeking out from around the corner to the kitchen, nor the way that he and Edward nodded to one another. Ed was already making a mental note to thoroughly thank James for his help, regardless of how the conversation went. Being given the opportunity to fix things with Tom was more than what he deserved after breaking the promise he’d made to be good to him in the first place.

They made their way out into the garden together, along a stone path that led out between bright, blooming flowerbeds and a neat little pond, until they came to a bench that was out on the far end of the property from the house. Tom took a seat on one end, then looked up at Edward, gesturing for him to sit at the other end. They sat there, for a minute, in silence, both men working through what they wanted to say. 

It was Tom who spoke first, though he did not turn his head to look at Edward when he did. “So? What was it that you needed to tell me?”

“That I’m sorry,” Edward blurted, the words forcing their way out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider them. “Sorry…about. Leaving you alone that morning. About not letting you in on what I was going through. It’s…” He let out a slow breath, lifting a hand to run it through his hair. “It’s a lot, and I should have warned you.”

“Warned me? About what?”

“About…the issues I have. With relationships.” 

Tom was looking at him now, brows furrowed. He didn’t say anything, but inclined his head slightly, silently urging him to continue on.

“I told you that my last break-up was rough, but I didn’t…really explain it. I didn’t feel like you needed to hear any of that ugliness.” It was uncomfortable just speaking out loud about it to someone who not only was not a part of his life when he’d been going through it, but someone who was directly affected by the lingering effects of it. But he pressed on. “I was dating the last guy - Solomon - for…god, we were going on four years. We’d moved in together and everything. Good, solid relationship, besides arguing sometimes. I started noticing that sometimes, he’d be off somewhere else. Not—not physically but, you know, busy on his phone, not listening when I was talking. He’d reassure me that everything was fine. I believed it. I really, really wanted to think that everything was fine.” 

He shuddered, as he thought about the last night they’d been together. He remembered having a little bickering argument, nothing serious. He’d made some poorly timed joke about Sol being more in love with his phone than with him. It had ended with him apologizing, with Sol insisting that it was fine, and they’d turned off the tv and went to bed. Almost a normal night. No real indication that something seriously wrong was going on.

“One night, we went to bed, like any other night. Said he loved me back. Everything felt fine.” He swallowed hard, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward to brace his elbows on his thighs. “I woke up in the morning and he was gone. His suitcase was gone. Closet was emptied out. He left me a note in the kitchen saying he had to go, that he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with someone like me. Blocked me on social media, my phone number, blocked all of my friends, just…gone. He was just gone and I couldn’t figure out what the hell I’d done wrong. Still don’t have a fucking clue.” 

He’d heard his voice break. Tom had too, but made no move to get any closer. “So you decided to disappear on me and not explain why…because that’s what he did to you?”

“No! God, no, Tom, it’s not like that,” Edward insisted, shaking his head, still staring down at the ground because it was easier than looking over at Tom, not with that accusation hanging in the air. “I woke up next to you and I…” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I panicked, okay? I panicked because I haven’t slept in bed with anyone since he left. Haven’t had feelings for anyone since him. It scared the hell out of me.” 

They were both silent for a moment, and then Tom reached out, resting a hand on Edward’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I would’ve understood that if you’d told me,” he said, quietly. “What hurt was getting the silent treatment all day, and then having you snap at me when I was just trying to figure out what was going on.”

Edward nodded, drawing in a sharp breath. “Yeah. I know. I just…I didn’t know what to say to you,” he admitted. “I’m still working through so much of this. Therapy helps but…sometimes the anxiety is just so much that I can’t think straight. He messed me up, really bad. I know that’s no excuse for what I did.” 

“No, but at least I know that it’s not something I did,” Tom sighed, letting his hand drop to his own lap again. “I just…Edward, you said that you _loved_ me the other night. You barely know me. And to go from that to having you disappear and then ignore me…” 

“I know—”

“You don’t know, though. You don’t. There’s no way you could know that I’ve never felt any sort of spark with anyone before I met you. I want to see where it goes. Being with you makes me want to try.” Tom was looking away again, lips drawn into a tight line. “But I can’t go all in if you’re going to run away and go silent every time there’s a problem. I can’t risk that for myself. It’s just not healthy.”

“I know, Tom. I know. I need to be better. I’m trying. This…” Edward gestured to both of them. “This is me trying. You…” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat, fighting back a sudden swell of emotion. When he spoke again, it was quieter. Scared. “You make me want to face all of those terrifying feelings head on. Like everything could be worth it. Like maybe this time things could work out alright.” 

Tom was quiet for a long moment, staring off toward the pond. The lack of answer had Edward fidgeting, picking at the seam of his pants and fighting down the growing feeling of panic in his chest. He’d probably already fucked this up beyond repair. Tom deserved better, and he probably knew it. He was probably considering the nicest way to let him down gently—

And then Tom reached out and grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“What do you need?” 

“…What?”

Tom finally looked back over at him. His pretty eyes were wet at the corners. Edward wanted so badly to reach out and wipe those unshed tears away. He didn’t dare.

“What do you need from me? To help you face down those fears. What can I do to help you?”

Edward had done an admirable job of not crying up until then, but Tom’s kindness proved to be too much. His free hand came up to cover his burning eyes with his and he drew in a long, shuddering breath. How did he get so lucky, to have found such a wonderful, warm-hearted man? He sniffled, and then gave a wet laugh. Beside him, Tom looked briefly confused.

“Sorry. Sorry, I just…” Edward was still laughing, tilting his head back now and wiping the tears away. “I can’t believe what a good person you are. I’m here apologizing for hurting you and you’re the one consoling me.”

“Because I care, Edward,” Tom scoffed, squeezing his hand again. “If we’re going to keep seeing each other, I need to know how I can make this less terrifying for you. I don’t want you anxious every time you’re around me.”

“Well that’s still very ki—wait.” Edward narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “ You want to keep seeing me?”

It was Tom’s turn to laugh. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Yeah but—”

“But nothing. I enjoy being around you, and if you’re willing to work on your communication skills, then I’m willing to give you a second chance. It’s as plain as that.” Tom was smiling at him. Edward was sure he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. “No more disappearing. No more ignoring me.”

“I promise. I’ll make a serious effort to tell you how I’m feeling when things are…overwhelming,” Edward agreed, turning slightly so that he could clasp both of Tom’s hands in his own. “What I need…it’s not much. For now, if you intend on staying the night, I want us to plan it in advance. No surprises. And I want to take our time with this. Sol and I moved in together after knowing each other for two months. I barely knew him. I don’t want to rush things with you and make all of the same mistakes.” 

“That’s very fair. I would like it if we could take our time and get to know each other properly.” Tom’s cheeks were flushed, the prettiest shade of pink, and he scooted in a little closer. “I think I’d also like to kiss you, if that’s alright.” 

Edward replied by closing the distance between them, leaning into press a sweet, chaste kiss to Tom’s lips. The weight he’d been carrying seemed to immediately dissipate, chased away by a warmth in his chest that made it so much easier to breathe. He lifted a hand to cup Tom’s cheek, to gently stroke his thumb along the soft skin there, a genuinely joyful smile on his face as they broke apart. “So…what does that make us now?”

“I don’t know. What did you have in mind?” Tom’s cheeky grin was altogether too adorable, and Edward had to lean in to kiss him again.

“You’re really going to make me ask you?” he chuckled, and as he felt Tom nod, he almost wanted to scoff at how ridiculous this man could be.

“Fine. Fine.” Pulling back, he lifted Tom’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “ Thomas Jopson, will you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask!” Tom exclaimed, as if he’d been waiting years rather than days. Maybe it was a bit fast. But maybe, some things really were worth the risk. “Of course I will. Nothing would make me happier.” He leaned in, to steal one last kiss, his nose brushing against Edward’s as he pulled away. “How did you find your way here anyway? Not that I’m upset about it, I just…didn’t expect to find you here.”

“You can thank your uncle James for that,” Ed chuckled, casting a glance back toward the house. “As a matter of fact, I need to thank him myself. Both of them, actually. For trusting me with you.” 

“I knew they were up to something.” Tom shook his head, pushing himself to his feet, and offering his hand to Edward once more. “For what it’s worth, I think they’ve put their trust in the right person.” As Edward got to his feet, Tom pressed a kiss to his cheek, then tugged him toward the path back to the house. “Come on, let’s go see if they need help cleaning up from breakfast. And we can find something to put that lovely bouquet in, so that I can take some pictures of it and brag to my friends about the beautiful flowers that my new boyfriend brought for me.” 

They walked together, hand in hand, through the garden; Edward felt like he was floating with every step that he took. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so carefree. Whatever the future would bring, he was ready to face it, so long as Tom was by his side.

Francis and James were waiting for them in the kitchen. The flowers had already found their home in a pretty vase that had been set out on the dining room table to be admired by anyone who came through. When they were asked to spend the afternoon and stay for dinner, neither of them could refuse. After all, a happy new relationship deserved a proper celebration.

___

Hours later, once the sun had set, they bid their hosts a goodnight, with full stomachs and full hearts. The offer for them to stay over had been made, because it was already getting late, but Edward hadn’t brought a change of clothes, and he needed to go home before work the next day. Lingering by their cars, Edward was loathe to let go of Tom’s hand, to kiss him goodnight and send him on his way. He could admit to himself now that he’d missed him in the two days that they’d been apart. It was strange, to miss someone, but a good kind of strange. It had him thinking, and Tom seemed to take notice, reaching up to give his arm a little squeeze.

“Earth to Edward. Still in there?”

“I—yes. Sorry,” Ed replied, coming out of the little fog he’d faded off into for a minute. “I was just thinking. You don’t have to go to the office tomorrow, do you?”

Tom shook his head. “No, I’m going to be doing editing tomorrow. How come?”

“I was thinking…” Edward’s voice trailed off, a sheepish look spreading across his face. “You should stay the night. I’ve got some pajamas I can lend you, and we can leave together in the morning…if…I mean, if you want to. Don’t feel obligated.” He lifted a hand to run it through his hair, unable to keep from fidgeting. “I just thought it could be a do-over of the other night.” 

Tom pretended to think about it for exactly three seconds before he was nodding, pulling Edward in close to kiss his cheek. “I’d like that. We can get up a little early and stop for coffee so that you’re not too sleepy.” 

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Edward found himself stunned to momentary silence at his luck. How Tom could be so sweet and so forgiving, and trust him enough to agree to stay over after how horridly their last morning together had gone, was still very much beyond him. It made him desperately want to be a better man, the sort of man that Tom deserved. 

“Alright. I uh. I guess I’ll see you there then,” he said, letting go of Tom’s hand in favor of sliding his arm around his waist, to pull him close, for a proper kiss. “Drive safe, okay?”

It was difficult to let go, difficult to say goodbye. But knowing he’d have Tom in his arms again in just a short while was enough reason to turn up the radio and sing along on the drive home.

___

“Okay, don’t laugh. Your shirt is huge on me.”

How could Edward possibly laugh? Tom was standing in the doorway from the bathroom, dressed in one of Edward’s favorite t-shirts and his own boxers. The shirt was indeed too big for him, hanging off of him in a way that made him look much smaller than he really was. But his hair was mussed, his cheeks pink with mild embarrassment, and there was no part of Edward that thought that he looked funny at all. Handsome was a word for it. Adorable, too. Kissable as hell.

“You should keep it,” he blurted, his mouth working too quickly for his brain to be able to discourage such a sentimental offer. He could feel his own face heating up as Tom smiled at him, and started across the room, to tuck himself under the blankets, at Edward’s side. “It suits you.” 

He scooted over to make enough room that they’d both be comfortable, laid back against the pillows and awkwardly wondered how Tom preferred to sleep - on his side? On his back? Did he like to cuddle? Or was he one of those guys who was happy just sleeping on the other side of the bed? What if they got too hot? What if he started snoring - what if Tom snored too? 

Every single worry was immediately muted when Tom reached to turn the light off and then moved in close, to rest his head against Edward’s shoulder, breathing out a pleased sigh. It didn’t matter. They were both here, and they would both still be here come morning. They could figure everything else out. 

“Are you sure?” Tom asked, shifting closer to rest his arm across Edward’s torso, his fingers curling in against his ribs. “I wouldn’t want to start stealing your clothing so early in our relationship.”

Edward snorted, turning his head to look at him. “So early? So you’d already been planning to raid my closet?”

“Well, yeah. I’m going to need a sweater somewhere along the line,” Tom replied, as if that was just the natural order of things, and Edward was crazy for not knowing it. “That’s just what boyfriends do.” 

“Is it? I wasn’t aware,” Edward chuckled, leaning in to press his lips against Tom’s temple. “Well. You’re welcome to help yourself to any of my sweaters in the morning. And some socks. The floor gets chilly when it’s still early.” 

“Mm. The perfect start to my collection.” Tom returned the gesture with a gentle kiss brushed against Edward’s shoulder as he settled in properly, biting back a yawn. “We’d best try to get some sleep if we want to be up early enough for coffee. I wouldn’t want you to be late. I promised Uncle Francis that I’d do my best not to interrupt your…how did he put it? Your ‘meticulous schedule’ I think.” 

“Meticulous is a word for it,” Edward replied, wrapping his arm around Tom’s shoulders. He was so warm, and so soft and it dispelled any lingering worries he had held on to about sharing a bed with him again. “I’m relieved that he thinks so well of me, as an employee. Now I’ve just got to prove myself as your partner.”

Tom chuckled softly from beside him in the dark, tracing a heart over his ribs with his fingertips. “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. You put your anxiety aside because you wanted to do the right thing. That’s already more than most people would dare,” he mumbled, his voice muted slightly, words spoken against Edward’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Edward. I’m proud to call you my own.” He made a little noise, like he’d just remembered something. “Speaking of which. I’m dragging you along to karaoke night with my friends this week. I need them to meet you.”

“Karaoke night. You’re joking, right?”

“Nope. Karaoke night. It’s a monthly tradition, and I want you to be a part of it.” 

Edward almost protested - he didn’t sing in front of other people, nevermind people who were his new boyfriend’s best friends. But there was something about knowing that Tom wanted him to be part of his traditions that made him pause. Maybe, he could work around his anxiety for the night. Who knows? Maybe he would end up with some new friends of his own. 

“Alright. You’re not going to catch me singing,” he replied, after a moment’s consideration. “But I’ll go. For you.”

Tom secretly doubted that Edward would get through the whole night without singing. Newcomers to their tradition generally said the same thing, and usually, by the end of the night, were holding the microphone themselves. But he wouldn’t press the issue. Edward would do whatever he was comfortable with, and nothing more. “That’s fine by me,” he answered, “I’ll do enough singing for both of us. You can just drink and wince at how terrible we are. It’ll be fun.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Edward said out loud, when internally, he was thinking, _anything is fun when I'm with you_. Maybe he’d work up the courage to tell Tom that someday. “Now hush, we’ve gotta be up in a few hours. I know you can go home and sleep but if your uncles catch me sleeping at my desk, it won’t matter what a good person they think I am outside of work.” 

Nuzzling against his shoulder, Tom let out a soft laugh. “You’re right. Sleep. Sorry. I just get carried away talking to you.”

“There’ll be plenty of time to talk tomorrow. C’mere and give me a kiss.” 

Edward was rewarded for his request almost immediately, Tom moving up against him and breathing out a soft sigh against his lips. He could certainly get used to this - everything from the warm, almost-sleepy kisses to the way that Tom snuggled down against him once more. Pressing a kiss to the mess of inky black hair resting against his cheek, he finally allowed himself to properly relax back against the pillows.

“Sweet dreams, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Edward,” came the soft reply. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You will,” Edward murmured into his hair, a promise he intended to keep. 

And indeed, he would. When his alarm rang - seven hours and thirty seven minutes away - he would wake with Tom still curled up in his arms. They’d get up and dress for the day together, talk about everything and nothing, hold hands in the elevator on the way out. He’d treat Tom to a coffee and a pastry from the cute cafe up the street, to make up for the coffee date that he’d turned down. They’d kiss goodbye and go their separate ways and in the evening, even if they spent the night in their own beds, he’d go to sleep knowing that the next morning, and the one after that, Tom was his.

Fifteen minutes later, he discovered that Tom did snore. It was that sound that lulled him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, come find me on tumblr at [ @owlboxes ](https://owlboxes.tumblr.com)


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